


Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 3

by SeHousman



Series: Fire Emblem: Tellius Saga [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Adaptation, Begnion, Crimea - Freeform, Daein, Fanfic, Gallia, Goldoa, Kilvas, Laguz, M/M, Novelization, Phoenicis, Serenes, Tellius, VideoGame, beorc, branded, hatari, parentless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 211,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26320561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeHousman/pseuds/SeHousman
Relationships: Ike/Senerio | Soren
Series: Fire Emblem: Tellius Saga [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691884
Comments: 105
Kudos: 92





	1. CHAPTER 67: FLAGUERRE

The Gallian Army was gathering in the city of Susa, near the mountainous Begnion border, only a day’s march from the fortress city of Mugill. The Greil Mercenaries arrived in the final stage of the muster, which meant the first battle of the Laguz-Begnion War would occur any day now. Soren knew from experience that a winter invasion wasn’t ideal. But because the Greil Mercenaries had survived the invasion of Daein with all their fingers and toes intact, he supposed it was possible they would live through this one too.

When they entered Susa, Ranulf ran ahead to report to the general: a lion named Skrimir who was Caineghis’s nephew and next in line for the Gallian throne. The Greil Mercenaries approached the city’s center more slowly, watching thousands of cats, tigers, and lions prepare for the coming war by sparring, cooking, playing, eating, and so on. Soren eyed the ongoing preparations and wasn’t surprised by the complete lack of mules or wagons. He already knew laguz didn’t domesticate horses or oxen, but it was still dismaying to see the rows of simple handcarts and realize those would be the only way to transport supplies for this entire army. Glancing at the sky, Soren didn’t see a single hawk or raven, but he found himself wondering how the flying army would make do without even these carts.

As the mercenaries wandered through the encampment, every soldier who got a whiff of them stopped to stare. And since the range of a beast laguz’s nose was quite far, and the hush that surrounded them was expansive.

On a whim, Soren allowed himself to fall to the back of the group, and then, when he felt brave enough, he slowed his pace even further. The mercenaries pulled ahead, and Soren glanced around to see if a single Gallian would look in his direction. They did not.

Every eye and ear he could see was currently following the ten mercenaries. Now that Soren was separate from them, he might as well be invisible. A shiver ran up his spine that had nothing to do with the cold, and he hastened to rejoin the others. No one commented on his momentary absence, and Soren made a mental note not to stray from his fellow mercenaries for the remainder of this campaign. If Parentless were truly treated like they didn’t exist, he could never count on a laguz soldier having his back in the battles to come.

Soren’s trepidation was abated a moment later, when Lethe and Mordecai appeared. These two laguz, at least, treated him like a regular beorc. Standing next to Lethe was another cat laguz who looked similar to Lethe herself, having the same light orange hair and violet eyes.

“Ike!” Mordecai rumbled in greeting, immediately enveloping Ike in a hug. “It makes my heart warm to see you again.” Although they’d crossed paths in Melior, both Mordecai and Lethe had returned to Gallia soon after Ludveck’s defeat.

“I may no longer call you my general,” Lethe said, inclining her head stiffly, “but if you allow me the term Commander, I would welcome you as such.”

“Fair enough.” Ike nodded. “It’s good to see you too, Lethe, Mordecai.” His eyes moved to the other cat-woman, and his smile grew uncertain, as if trying to recall if he knew her.

“This is Lyre,” Lethe introduced her. “She is my kit-mate—my twin as you beorc may say.”

Ike’s eyebrows shot up. “I didn’t realize you had a sister! It’s nice to meet you, Lyre.” Perhaps remembering Lethe’s dislike of beorc when they first met, Ike didn’t offer his hand.

But Lyre seized his hand and wrist to shake it emphatically. “I’m glad to finally meet the beorc even Lethe and Captain Ranulf call friend.”

Lethe hissed in embarrassment, and Mordecai chuckled.

“Captain Ranulf is the one who bid us find you,” Lyre continued, “You should come with us!” She finally let go of his hand, and Ike agreed to follow her.

Mordecai slipped away to attend some vague duties, and the two sisters led the mercenaries to a large building at the center of Susa. Here they reunited with Ranulf, who was accompanied by a lion laguz Soren could only assume was Skrimir.

In size and shape, he mirrored Caineghis, but he seemed to lack the king’s elegance. Rather than the fine robes Caineghis always wore, Skrimir was dressed in the lightweight cloth and simple leather armor worn by all Gallian soldiers. Like his uncle, his hair was an unruly mane of crimson locks, but instead of a full beard, he kept only a patch of hair at the bottom of his chin. On his forehead, his laguz markings were a series of slashes radiating from the point of his bushy eyebrows up to his hairline.

“Ike, may I introduce General Skri-” Ranulf began, but the lion-man pushed past him.

“ _This_ is the beorc my uncle goes on about?” he laughed, throwing his hands on his hips. “He doesn’t look like much to me!”

Ike stared back at Skrimir without backing down. “I’m Ike of the Greil Mercenaries. We’re here to help.”

“Bah!” Skrimir barked. “Gallia doesn’t need help to fight! Our warriors are the strongest in the world!”

“Commander Ike is here to help us with our strategy,” Ranulf offered, “Remember, Skrimir? …Strategy?”

The lion prince was clearly not listening. He ran his eyes over the rest of the mercenaries and his face twisted deeper and deeper into confusion upon seeing Mist, Rolf, Mia, and Soren. “What are these little ones doing here? They’re so skinny! Are these beorc soldiers? Ha! They will be easy to crush!”

Mist blushed, and Rolf started fidgeting with his hands. Mia grew indignant and clenched her fists. “You may find we don’t crush so easily,” she growled, but her voice was quiet, as if she may not want to anger Skrimir as soon as meeting him. Soren, on the other hand, was simply relieved Skrimir had actually looked at him directly and implied he was one of the ‘beorc soldiers’ he was belittling. It may have been an insult, but it wasn’t as bad as the truth.

Ranulf seemed ashamed of Skrimir’s comments, and he offered the mercenaries a wince of apology. Ike just shook his head, “We’re all capable fighters, and we’ll be glad to prove that on the battlefield. When do we move out?”

“Ha! He is eager for blood—I like that! I too which to feel the flesh of my enemies under my claws. We should leave soon, Ranulf!”

“Just a few more days until all the troops are ready,” he promised.

“Then I will go to them!” Skrimir decided. “I will make them readier!” With that, he strode past the mercenaries and exited the hall without a backward glance.

Ranulf shook his head when the heavy doors slammed closed. “Please forgive him,” he sighed, “He’s just very…excited right now.”

Ike shrugged innocently. “I wasn’t going to say a thing.”

A moment later, the sound of footsteps signaled someone coming briskly down the hall. He was a familiar-looking tiger laguz with white hair, bluish ears, and a blue-gray tail. He was dressed primly, with every inch of cloth in his trousers and jerkin apparently ironed and folded into place. Soren recognized him as the one who’d given them the copy of the trade agreement in Mugill a year ago.

“Ah, Lieutenant Kyza,” Ranulf greeted him, “You remember the Greil Mercenaries.”

The tiger gave a short, stiff bow. “Greetings,” he said and then immediately turned to Ranulf. “There are still preparations that need your approval, sir.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Ranulf sighed again. “Why don’t you get the mercenaries set up while I’m gone?” He turned to Ike, adding: “When I get back, I’ll wrangle Skrimir into a strategy meeting and we can start planning our first move.”

Ike glanced at Titania and Soren. “We’ll be ready,” he promised. 

Soren had had weeks to contemplate the Laguz Alliance’s first strike, but he hadn’t possessed complete information until now. At Ike’s request, Kyza brought them the latest reports and answered their biggest questions—such as why the invasion’s aerial units were missing.

“The bird tribes are scheduled to begin their strike on southern Begnion tomorrow,” Kyza answered in an official tone. “Kings Tibarn and Naesala intend to draw the Central Army southward, preventing them from swiftly aiding the northern forces.”

Ike rubbed his cheek and nodded. “That sounds like a good plan.”

“It’s certainly one way to do it…” Soren said to offer his approval. Although divide-and-conquer was a perfectly logical tactic, he wouldn’t normally condone a strategy that required completely separating his own forces in order to divide a larger enemy. But given the bird-men’s unique mobility, they should be able to unite with the Gallian Army far faster than the Central Army could reinforce the senators’ northern forces. And as long as the hawks and ravens did eventually unite with the Gallian Army, Soren could work with this.

Once Kyza had given them a couple rooms in Susa Hall and found a place to store their horses and cart, he left them alone to await Ranulf’s return. Ike let the rest of the mercenaries loose, while he, Soren, Titania, and Mist reviewed reports on Mugill’s and Flaguerre’s fortifications. Both cities were prepared to withstand siege, and Begnion clearly suspected an imminent attack.

However, Gallia apparently thought it impossible to get a spy inside the city walls (due to their markings and obvious animal attributes), because they hadn’t even tried. Reconnaissance thus far was limited, and the reports contained no specific information about the city’s garrison. Soren had foreseen this problem, but he refused to stand for it. Either the Gallians would have to try harder to disguise themselves, or they would have to find beorc willing to work with them.

“One of us could go in…” Ike mused when Soren pointed out the root of the issue.

“Absolutely not,” he returned. “If you consider each mercenary’s skills objectively, none of them would make an ideal spy relative to their expendability.”

“Aw,” Titania cooed, “Soren’s worried about us.”

Rolling his eyes, he explained: “It is simply too likely they would get captured and killed. Stealth has never been the Greil Mercenaries’ forte; that is not why we are here.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Ike sighed, turning to another map of the region. “We can discuss it later at the meeting. For now, let’s think about the best way to seize Mugill. They have to have a weakness in their defenses somewhere…”

Soren silently rotated Ike’s map so he was looking at it the right way up, and when he did, he noticed a dotted trail penned between the mountains north of Mugill Pass. “What’s this?” he said, tracing it with his finger.

“Hm…” Titania squinted at the map and then found a similar-looking one filled with minute writing. “I believe that is the route they’ve been using to conduct reconnaissance on Flaguerre.”

“Do the mountains really line up like this…?” Soren thought aloud, taking a closer look at the sketch and hoping it was accurate.

“What are you thinking, Soren?” Ike asked with a hint of excitement in his voice.

“If scouts are already using this path, perhaps it’s possible an entire battalion could squeeze through.” He pointed to where the path seemed to end just south of the blocked pass between Crimea and Begnion. “Begnion will not be expecting us to attack Flaguerre first, let alone from the Crimea-facing side.”

“Taking Flaguerre while its back is turned,” Titania murmured appreciatively, “It’s a cunning move.”

“I assume most of the forces stay here in Susa,” Ike noted. Instead of looking at the map, he was looking at the mountains through the window. “Then we can strike Mugill from the north and west at the same time.”

“There will still be the matter of Mugill’s impenetrable walls,” Soren reminded, “But yes.”

Ike grinned. “I bet Ranulf and Skrimir will love this plan!”

“It all depends on the soundness of this passage,” he reminded. “Let’s find out what we can before the strategy meeting.” With that, all three returned to their reports, and Soren noticed Ike’s movements and pace of reading seemed much livelier than before.

Ranulf arrived before Skrimir, and his eyes lit up when he heard the plan. “We may have to march single-file part of the way to Flaguerre, but that shouldn’t be a problem.” He started pacing and rubbing his hands together. “Now we just have to convince Skrimir.”

“Convince him?” Titania repeated.

Ranulf stopped to give her an apologetic glance. “Well, we certainly can’t phrase it like we’re stabbing Begnion in the back… Skrimir cares a lot about honor actually.”

“Well, it’s not like the Begnion forces at Flaguerre are going to be pushovers.” Ike shook his head. “This battle isn’t going to be easy just because we come from the rear.”

Just then, the doors to the briefing room ground open and Skrimir pushed his way in. “Ah Ranulf,” he greeted them, “and the hairless ones from earlier!”

“Good timing, Skrimir,” Ranulf welcomed him. “We were just discussing a strategy that might be the perfect use of our forces.”

Skrimir reached the table but didn’t sit down. Laid on the tabletop was a map of the region with stone figurines to represent the Begnion garrisons in Mugill and Flaguerre as well as the units of Gallian soldiers here in Susa. He gazed at them with disinterest. “What is this strategy?” he asked skeptically.

“Your soldiers’ paws are better suited to mountainous terrain than hooves.” Soren spoke in a language he thought Skrimir would understand. “The commander at Flaguerre will not expect a large force to come through the mountains, simply because a beorc army would be incapable of it.” He slid one statuette up the mountain passage until it stood next to Flaguerre. “Underestimating you will be his downfall.”

Skrimir clearly liked what he was hearing. “We do that then!” he declared.

“You mean, you’re okay with attacking Flaguerre first, instead of Mugill?” Ranulf clarified, obviously trying to hide his surprise.

“Which is which?” Skrimir cocked his head at the map but promptly gave up. “Bah!” He swept his arm across the table, knocking over both Flaguerre’s and Mugill’s figurines. “We attack the one underestimating us first!”

“I’ll put the plan into place,” Ranulf said, obviously relieved.

“Was this your idea, Ranulf?” Skirmir asked, turning to him. “It is a good one!”

Ranulf gestured across the table at Ike, Titania, and Soren. “No, that’s why we hired these mercenaries, remember? They are familiar with both laguz and beorc styles of warfare.”

Skrimir looked at the trio as if seeing them for the first time. “Ike, was it?” he asked, “Keep coming up with strategies that let us laguz best use our strength.”

“We will,” Ike agreed, “But actually, it was Soren who thought of this one.” He clapped him on the back while Skrimir stared in confusion.

“This child?” he asked before bursting into laughter. “Beorc are surprising!”

Ike kept his hand on Soren’s back even while his shoulders bunched, and the comfort of the touch stopped him from saying anything.

“We’ll help Ranulf put the plan into action now,” Ike said, ignoring the comment.

“Good.” Skrimir nodded his approval, and with that, he was gone. Only then did Ike drop his hand. Soren instantly missed its warmth.

“Sorry about that,” Ranulf sighed.

Soren just shook his head. “He is a laguz: aggressive, simple-minded, short-sighted—I honestly don’t expect anything better.”

Ranulf’s mouth twisted into a grimace of annoyance, but he didn’t defend himself against the insult. “Well, let’s hammer out the details.” Turning his attention to the map, he picked up the statuettes Skirmir had knocked over. “These ballistae will be a problem…” he began.

Soren turned his mind to the task, but not before determining that, although he didn’t care what the stupid lion prince thought of him, he was going to make Skrimir need him. _Soon,_ he hoped _, Soon it will pain Skrimir to know how much he relies on someone he considers so inferior_.

The trail to Flaguerre was in some parts very narrow and in some parts very steep. The elevation was high, and the cold, thin air bit Soren’s throat and weakened his lungs. The laguz troops took turns marching in their human and animal shapes, and as Soren had expected, these physical challenges were not as damaging to them as they might have been to a beorc battalion. The beasts plowed through snow that would have stopped any beorc, and their keen senses alerted them to dangerous ice patches and hidden crevasses.

But even with the laguz’s help, the mercenaries had it much harder, and they grumbled constantly for three days. Since they were bringing only Titania and Oscar’s horses, they carried all their supplies on their backs. At night when the temperature dropped and an icy mist descended on the mountains, they slept huddled within a single tent and kept each other from freezing.

The rest of the battalion made camp in large, round yurts, which were remarkably different than the cot-filled tents that had sheltered the Crimea Liberation Army in the Mad King’s War. During the day, the Gallian soldiers carried the springy, lightweight wood that made the lattice frames, and when these were erected, they covered them with furs, canvas, wool felt, and even the cloaks off their backs.

Each evening they camped in a relatively wide part of the narrow mountain trail, and here the troops would erect thirty of these dwellings in a row. The entire battalion sought refuge by piling in fifty to a yurt and keeping each other warm at night, just like the mercenaries. In the morning, the yurt at the head of the train functioned as the strategy tent, and it was here that Soren, Ike, Skrimir, Ranulf, and Titania conferred before starting the day’s march.

“Flaguerre is close now,” Ranulf announced, rolling out the map on which he’d marked their progress. “We should cross the Begnion border and arrive at the fortress city by dusk. We’ll storm the place at night and hit them fast enough that they troops inside won’t have time to take their positions.”

“Yes!” Skrimir roared in agreement. “Finally, a chance to rend my foes! But I would rather have a head-on fight,” he pouted, “Why do we wait until nightfall, like a pack of cowards?”

With eyes squeezed shut, Ranulf pressed his palm into his forehead and shook his head.

“Uh, what’s our role in this?” Ike asked, changing the subject.

“I want the Greil Mercenaries to act as a guerilla force,” Ranulf replied, tapping the map where Soren knew scouts had already found a weakness in Flaguerre’s wall. “Take out their fire mages and ballistae. They’re bad news for us laguz.”

“Bah, enough talking! To the battlefield, to taste my enemies’ fear! No more waiting!” Skrimir stood and began stretching his arms and legs.

“No, Skrimir.” Ranulf raised both of hands calmingly. “This isn’t the kind of fight where a general takes the field. You should stay behi-”

“Are you insane? Oh, I’ll fight! A general of Gallia does not hide behind his men! Leave this ‘tactics’ garbage to the beorc. We need only our claws and teeth! I call an end to this meeting! Time to kill!” He pushed his way out of the yurt without a backward glance.

“Wait!” Ranulf leapt to his feet. “Skrimir! Blast.” Apparently realizing his prince wasn’t coming back, he groaned audibly.

“Are you okay?” Ike asked, getting to his feet. Outside, Soren could hear the troops already dismantling the yurt around them.

“Yeah. That thickheaded fool…” Ranulf whispered and shook his head. “This’ll be his first major battle. Hopefully, he won’t get his teeth kicked out.” Something in Ranulf’s expression made Soren wonder if that wasn’t exactly what he wanted to happen. “How about you, Ike? Are you sure about this?”

“Sure about what?”

“Well, you know…” Ranulf ran his eyes over Soren and Titania too. “You’re beorc. I’m laguz. You sure you want to take our side?”

“The Laguz Alliance is in the right, Ranulf,” Ike returned firmly. “The senate is actively ignoring you, and worse, they’re murdering your messengers! Why shouldn’t we help you get the senate’s attention? I’m sure my people understand. Besides, I would never abandon a friend in need.” He grasped Ranulf’s upper arm with one hand.

“Thanks, Ike,” the cat-man sighed, gently touching his fingers.

Soren felt his old jealousy bubbling up again, and he fought to keep it down like bile. He told himself Ike and Ranulf were different species—just as he and Ike were. It was impossible for them to feel anything other than friendship toward one another. But that same justification had never done nothing to dissuade his own heart.

“Seems like we were just here,” Mia whispered when the lights of the city came into view. Her breath came in bursts of clouds.

“Except we were actually fighting for Begnion that time,” Boyd replied with a laugh in his voice. “Being a mercenary sure is never boring.”

“ _Shh!_ ” Titania hissed because he’d gotten too loud.

“This way!” Ike whispered, urging everyone to move faster. They descended into a stretch of young woods west of Flaguerre, and here the night was even darker. They couldn’t light a lantern, so they trusted their instincts and the bit of moonlight that managed to escape the thick cloud cover and tree branches. Soren didn’t know if his night vision was any better than his companions’, but he seemed to run into trees, trip over roots, and slip on ice less often than the rest. Because of this, he inevitably pulled to the front, beside Ike, and his presence tugged the mercenaries in the right direction.

Soon the woods gave way to a greater, solider darkness stretching in front of them: the decaying stone wall of Flaguerre’s western outworks. Following it, the mercenaries soon found the crumbling section that scouts reported should be low enough for a horse to jump. Assessing the site in the dark, the mercenaries were forced to roll down a couple of the larger stones, causing a small avalanche that was sure to draw a guard.

He, Ike, Shinon, and Gatrie climbed over first, while Rolf perched on an intact part of the wall with his bow drawn. Oscar and Titania crossed the wall with a running start, and the clatter of their hooves seemed even louder than the rocks. Almost as soon as they were over, the glow of a torch appeared among the trees. Rolf’s bowstring twanged, and the torch fell to the ground. Soren could hear the guard gurgling as he died, but he didn’t cry out, which meant Rolf’s aim was true. 

Mist, Rhys, Mia, and Boyd crawled over the wall next, and Rolf hopped down. “Let’s go,” Ike whispered, “Skrimir should be at the gate any second.”

With their ears attuned to the darkness, the mercenaries made their way out of the trees, and soon it was easy to follow the light. They were in the outer training grounds now, with seventy yards between them and the city’s main wall. But before the wall was an elevated stretch of land lined with three ballistae and bordered by evenly spaced braziers. At the corner of the terrace was a wooden watchtower, the top of which glowed with torchlight, but it was otherwise invisible in the descending fog. The top of the wall and the city beyond were likewise lost from view. The fog was sinking, and soon the mercenaries and laguz would be fighting in it.

Echoing Soren’s thoughts, a series of roars suddenly rent the night air. They were made even louder by the thick clouds, which seemed to contain and amplify the sound. Without stopping his charge, Soren turned his gaze south, where the land sloped downward and he could see outworks gate—or at least, the shadows cast by the torches mounted on either side. It was beyond this gate that the roaring was coming from, and a sudden loud thump echoed from it.

“E-enemy fire!” a Begnion guard called from somewhere in the dark. “We’re under attack! It’s those Gallian beasts! The subhumans are attacking us!” This was followed by plenty of urgent trumpeting.

Before Soren’s eyes, the outworks gate blew inward, and an enormous red lion bounding into the training yard below. Soren realized this had to be Skrimir, and he was pleasantly surprised to see he’d been able to batter down the first gate so quickly. A legion of cats and tigers was now pouring in around him, including a blue cat who had to be Ranulf. “Run down all who get in your way! Make a path of blood and bone! Advance! Advance! Advance!” bellowed Skirmir before disappearing from the torchlight again.

“Yeesh, glad he’s on our side!” Ike laughed aloud. “I see the family resemblance!” They no longer needed to keep quiet now that the guards on the terrace had spotted them.

An arrow zipped past Soren’s face, and he decidedly stopped paying attention to Skrimir and Ranulf’s battle. He and the Greil Mercenaries had their own job to do, and given the creaking sound coming from the ballistae, they were running late. The creaking was swiftly followed by whooshing and crashing as they lobbed their payloads.

“Keep up, everyone!” Ike called, running even faster. “Let’s get to work!”

Rocks were pummeling the laguz troops, and the mercenaries needed to stop that from happening as soon as possible. However, they met resistance on the way. Archers were lined up on the terrace, firing frantically into the darkness even though they probably couldn’t see the mercenaries well enough to aim. Meanwhile, other guardsmen were hopping down and racing toward them with torches in one hand and swords and axes in the other.

Ike’s sword cut through one such torch and the neck of the soldier carrying it in a single blow. A moment later, he was lost from view, and Soren was surrounded by lunging bodies and clashing weapons. Begnion soldiers wielding two-handed weapons followed the torch-bearers and posed an even greater threat.

Soren stopped running, holding back so he could turn his breath into a spell: “*Spirits of flame, follow my hand. Scorch their flesh.*” He chose to cast Elfire, because even if the flames didn’t finish the job, opponents who were screaming and on fire would be much easier for the other mercenaries to find and execute. He shot off three more spells in quick succession before a halberdier reached him.

Soren ducked to avoid the arc of his halberd and intended to skip away, but this soldier was surprising well-trained and refused to swing too wide. He kept swiping and stabbing at Soren, successfully pushing him back.

Everyone was consumed in their own battles, so Soren would have to handle this on his own. “*Spirits of lightning-*” he began chanting. At the same moment, he dipped low, under the next swing. He twisted around the soldier, kicking the back of his knee before he could pivot. “-electrify the flesh-” he continued, stepping back before the soldier could right himself, “*-before me!*” The lightning bolt was much closer than Soren was used to, but he was confident his own magic wouldn’t hurt him. The brightness was blinding, but he could tell by the scent of burnt hair and hot metal that it had been a direct hit. Instead of regaining his footing, the soldier crumpled into the ground.

Soren cast his senses around him to predict where the next attack would come from, and he used a simple wind spell to fend of the attacker until his eyesight returned. A couple seconds later, he using another Elfire spell to burn the soldier from the inside out.

Looking around, Soren realized he had been pushed farther from the battle than he wanted to be, especially with the fog closing in around him. Running to reunite with the others, he attuned his senses to Ike and followed his friend’s unique beacon.

When he arrived, he saw Boyd give one of the legs of the watchtower two good chops with his hand-axes. Then Titania ran underneath, slashing at the same spot with her poleax. The timbers whined as the watchtower started to fall, and the Soren ran to get clear. When the noise had passed, he returned just in time to see Mia dashing up the fallen wreckage. She was using one of the intact legs as a ramp to reach the archers on the terrace. Soren hoped her idea was successful, but he soon lost her in the mist. Ike and Boyd were nearby, and when Soren stepped close enough to see them through the fog, he could tell they were on their way to join Mia by merely pulled themselves up over the edge. Since the elevation of the terrace was only as high as their armpits, this was easily done.

Gatrie, Shinon were right behind them, and although they quickly disappeared from view, Soren could hear them fighting with Mia not far away. Boyd rushed to fight as well, but Ike stayed to pull up Mist. Rolf, meanwhile, managed to get up on his own. Ike helped Rhys after that, which just left Soren (since Titania and Oscar were picked off the remaining ground troops.)

Ike was holding out his hand, and even though Soren thought he would have been able to get up on his own, he submitted to the aid. He grasped Ike’s hand at the same time he began a new Wind spell, and he completed it as soon as his feet touched the flagstones. He could hardly see his comrades or the enemy soldiers fighting in the gloom, nor the ballistae beyond (whose engineers had to be aiming solely on sound now, since there was nothing to see), so he used this spell to merely push the fog away.

The winds he conjured were not forceful or sharp, but for a moment they revealed the entire terrace. The fighting slowed to a stop as panicked soldiers and zealous mercenaries got their bearings. By the time the fog closed in again, the battle had resumed in earnest.

Soren fended off the soldiers he sensed around him while making his way to the ballistae, which were the true target of this mission. Upon reaching one, he set it ablaze with two Fire spells. Meanwhile, Boyd and Ike hacked another to pieces, and Mia merely sabotaged the last one so the counterweights couldn’t function. The end of the barrage was met by excited shouting and cheering from the laguz below.

“Weaklings!” Skrimir’s voice rose above the rest. “Where is your general? Come out and fight, coward! I am Skrimir, general of Gallia!” From what Soren could hear, the Begnion soldiers offered no response.

Despite Skirmir’s overconfidence, the battle wasn’t even half over. Now they needed to get beyond the wall, defeat the main garrison forces (which must be charging their way by now), and take the citadel at the city’s center (which would mean eliminating more ballistae and a regiment of mages who’d yet to show their faces).

The sound of thumping made Soren realize Skrimir and his troops had reached the city gate. The mercenaries had to get moving if they were to stay ahead of the Gallians and keep protecting them from Begnion’s artillery. “Soren, over here!” Ike called, and he ran to his side. He and Rhys had found the stairs leading atop the wall, which were blocked merely by a wooden door and a shackle lock. “You said you can take care of these, right?” 

“Well, I am no Volke, but-” Soren didn’t waste any more time on the common tongue: “*Fly spirits of wind!*” A jet of wind shot through the lock, and it fell to the ground broken.

“Perfect!” Ike grinned. “Greil Mercenaries to me! We’re taking this city!” He pulled the door open, only for a volley of arrows to peg the ground at his feet. He immediately slammed the door again, and the second volley imbedded itself in the wood. “One,” Ike started counting, and Soren and Rhys began chanting.

“*Spirits of wind-*”

“*Spirits of light-*”

“Two.”

“*-follow my hand-*”

“*-follow my hand-*”

“Three!” He pulled the door open again, and Soren and Rhys unleashed their spells.

“*-Blast their flesh!*”

“*-Expunge the darkness!*”

Soren’s deadly gale ripped into two of the archers atop the stairwell, and Rhys’s golden light melted the skin off the other two. Ike surged up the steps without even checking to see if the dual spells had been successful. He had his sword drawn, and he finished off the one soldier Rhys had left shuddering violently on the ground.

Soren and Rhys were right behind him, already summoning new spells to use against whoever they found atop of the wall. Mia and Rolf were behind them, in turn, followed by Mist and Boyd. Soren was certain the others were coming too—even Titania and Oscar, who would be forced to leave their steeds behind for now.

As soon as he reached the top of the stairs, Soren became immersed in a foggy battle once more. This time, the wrong step could mean falling off the wall, so he concentrated hard on his footing.

Before long, the mercenaries descended the wall on the other side, now entering the city proper. Here the neatly spaced torches along the city streets helped alleviate their blindness, but it was also here that the garrison forces from the eastern part of the city had finally come to support their unprepared comrades.

The Greil Mercenaries couldn’t waste time engaging them all—instead leaving that to the laguz troops who were now pouring into the city. Instead, Ike led them to the second tier of defensive ballistae. These were erected around the citadel on all sides and fired steel bolts. With poor visibility like this, they were less effective than the stone-throwers. But the deep twang of the scorpions was often accompanied by a high-pitched yelp from a laguz, so the bolts were obviously hitting something. The mercenaries had nearly reached the ballistae when a sudden brightness to the south caught their attention,

“That’s a lot of fire,” Mist observed with a tremor in her voice. Her eyes widened as she stared at the glowing fog.

“Begnion’s fire mages must be engaging Skrimir’s forces,” Titania noted hollowly.

“Mist, Shinon, Gatrie!” Ike ordered them, “You’re with me.”

“Yes, Boss!” they replied in unison.

“Titania, take everyone else and support Skrimir until those mages are dead. Cross the rooftops to get there!” 

“Yes, sir!” Titania crowed. “Come on, you lot!” Soren followed her with only a second’s hesitation. He agreed with Ike’s change of strategy, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be apart from him. Reminding himself that the sooner the mages were dead, the sooner he could reunite with Ike, Soren urged his legs to run faster.

When they reached the battle unfolding at the base of the citadel, Soren, Rhys, and Rolf stayed on the rooftops to attack from above, while Titania, Oscar, and Boyd leapt down to face the mages and soldiers hand-to-hand.

“There you are, beorc mercenaries!” Skrimir laughed when he saw them. “You’re missing out on all the fun!” With a playful roar, he leapt forward, knocking out one soldier with the sheer force of the collision. A moment later, his massive front paw pressed down on another soldier’s head before he could crawl away, thereby crushing it, and his bloody maw descended to grab an enemy archer by the arm. He proceeded to shake the man until his body ripped away from his shoulder joint.

Tearing his eyes from the carnage, Soren focused on the mages in the street below. Lightning was generally more effective against users of fire magic, so he turned to a page of Elthunder spells and wasted no time electrocuting the red-cloaks from above.

Once the mages were dead, the laguz troops had no need of them, so Titania led Soren and the others around the opposite side of the citadel, where the reunited with Ike just as he and his team were about to take out the last two scorpions. They accomplished the task together, and when it was done, Soren took a moment to catch his breath and survey the battle from the high vantage point. The fog still blurred his view, but a lot could be determined from light (fire), darkness (lack of fire), motion (fighting or fleeing), and the noise drifting up to him (mostly victorious roaring).

From what Soren could determine, the citadel doors were open and Skrimir was inside. Half the laguz were flooding in behind him while the rest remained outside to defeat the surviving soldiers. Turning to the east, where it was far darker, Soren detected what seemed to be a large swath of motion on the main road leading out of the city. This motion was led by a small cluster of torches.

“What do you see?” Ike asked quietly, coming up behind him.

“Begnion is retreating,” Soren offered. A moment later, he heard the sound of distant trumpets signaling an official retreat.

“Well, let’s finish this,” Ike sighed. Soren turned to him and noticed he was bleeding beneath his ear, but the wound didn’t seem life-threatening. “Come on, everybody, let’s get inside!” A second later, Gatrie smashed in one of the citadel’s windows, and he and Shinon were the first to jump inside. Soren could feel exhaustion tugging at his mind and body, but as Ike had said, all that was left now was to seize their victory.

The laguz were merciless and showed no interest in taking prisoners or asking for a surrender. Although they refused to fight anyone who dropped their weapons, if a soldier cowered or ran without dropping their blade, they were fair game. 

The laguz didn’t seem to tire either. When they ran out of energy and were forced to revert to their human forms, their chests heaved and their hands shook, but they refused to stop fighting. Many of them ran in search of some escaped or hidden soldier they might be able to fight, despite having no weapons except their fists.

“Are we done?” Ike asked Ranulf, when they finally reunited in the citadel’s main hall.

“Yeah,” Ranulf yawned. (At least he seemed tired like a normal person.) “The guards are dead, and the rest of the troops have fled to the east. We’re in good shape.” He and the Greil Mercenaries walked out Flaguerre’s central plaza. Here they found Skrimir pacing on two legs.

“ _Bah!_ ” He kicked the disembodied head of a Begnion soldier. “Is that it? I still crave blood!” He rounded on Ranulf. “Find me more humans to kill!” 

“The civilians have no quarrel with us,” Ike said in a low, warning voice, “and the soldiers who surrendered have handed over their weapons.”

Skrimir growled unhappily, and Soren wondered if he would order his men to stand down. If he refused, Soren wondered if Ranulf and Ike could possibly force him. “If this is all the fight Begnion can give, this war will be over soon!” He crossed his arms and gave the surrounding fog a smug glare.

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Ranulf cautioned, raising his palms. “We won this fight, yes, but the empire has a massive army. Don’t forget that there was a time when Begnion ruled over the entire continent, even us.”

“Hmph.” Skrimir turned away like a petulant child “ _You_ forget...that was before my time.”

Ranulf dropped his arms and shook his head. “Did you listen to a word I just said?”

Instead of answering, Skrimir walked away, heading toward the closest group of his restless warriors. “Soldiers of Gallia!” he boomed, “The battle is over! We have won! No human can stand against the laguz! Take heart—we are not done yet! We’ll continue to fight, kill, and crush our enemies!”

“What…” Soren closed his eyes, and his exhaustion seemed to double. “What a stupid speech.”

“Oh don’t say that,” Titania sighed. “I hear King Caineghis was not so different when he was young. Try not to judge so quickly.”

“I don’t know,” Ike winced. “That’s really hard to imagine.”

“I’m sure Skrimir will settle down, given time,” Ranulf offered in a strained voice. “Well, I hope so, anyway…”

Skirmir was out of view now, but he was clearly audible as he continued to shout: “Victory awaits us in Mugill! We shall attack, conquer, and celebrate our victory!”

“Well if he’s not settling down right now,” Soren said pointedly to Ranulf, “perhaps you should stop him from massacring the city.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Ranulf returned, obviously irritated by the accusation. “That would be completely dishonorable.” When Soren didn’t back down, Ranulf relaxed his shoulders. “Then again, I’m sure the civilians are terrified. Maybe I can get him to call everyone back to the keep,” he conceded.

“We’ll be inside.” Ike nodded. “Mist and Rhys are available to heal anyone who’s badly injured.”

Ranulf seemed to perk up a bit and cast his gaze over the bloodstained, battle-weary mercenaries. “Thanks, by the way,” he said. “The Greil Mercenaries were a big help tonight.”

“We’re just glad to be here,” Ike replied.

As the cat-man jogged after his idiot prince, Soren wondered how Ike could be glad to be in this mess—supporting the likes of Skrimir, who seemed to embody the worst values of laguz culture. They may have won this battle, but there were many more to come, and Skrimir’s pathetic excuse for leadership could get them all killed.


	2. CHAPTER 68: STRATEGY

After appropriating food and supplies from the Flaguerre citizenry (who were so frightened of the laguz that they cooperated without complaint), Skrimir’s battalion spent a day resting in the citadel and (proverbially) licking their wounds. This meant the Greil Mercenaries also had a day of rest, and after the long night of the siege, they needed it.

However, Soren couldn’t stay asleep for long, and when he awoke, he sought out Ike to discuss their next move. He found him with Titania in the mess hall. Both appeared to have gotten as much sleep as him (which was to say, not much). Titania’s long red hair was loose around her shoulders, and she had dark circles under her eyes, which were staring into space above the steaming mug of coffee she held to her chin. There was a plate of food in front of her (which was mostly meat because it seemed the Gallian soldiers had no interest in vegetables), but she hadn’t yet eaten much of it. Ike, meanwhile, was chowing down with gusto.

Ranulf and some of his compatriots were sitting at a nearby table, but they were easy to ignore. Soren grabbed a plate of the greasy lamb and potatoes being served, ignoring the Gallian cook who looked right through him. Then he took his place by Ike, across from Titania. Ike greeted him with a mouth full of “Gub’mern’n.”

“Are you in a rush?” Soren asked quizzically.

Ike shrugged and swallowed. “Just hungry.”

Soren started cutting into his own breakfast, but he found himself doing much more cutting than eating. Soon the meat and potatoes were diced into perfectly chewable cubes, but he found he had little appetitive.

Ike glanced from Soren to Titania and back again. “What’s up with you two?”

Soren didn’t have an answer, so he ate his first bite to occupy his mouth. Fortunately, Titania did have something to say. “Ike, I’ve been thinking,” she began, “Is this war…something that we should really be fighting? After all, we know about Lehran’s Medallion…”

Soren was surprised by her sudden change of heart, and he wondered if it had been Skrimir’s savagery or merely reexperiencing the overwhelming nature of a real battle that had changed her mind. He tried to remember her burst of poetry the night of the contract signing: “‘As long as the dark god sleeps within the medallion, the world shall not war’,” he recalled. “Is that what you mean?”

“That’s right.” Titania took a sip of her coffee and nodded. “Our ancestors made a vow, and it is our responsibility to prevent the horror they strove against… ‘Let the land be not covered in war, else the dark god shall be freed of the medallion and the world destroyed’ …This war could easily spread across Tellius, and the dark god could be awakened. We were very fortunate during the Mad King’s War, but it was a close call. Can we count on being lucky again? Already we’re talking about a conflict between Begnion—the largest nation in Tellius—and three laguz countries. That’s half of the known world, and it’s not over yet. Have they all forgotten the possibility of the dark god’s rebirth?”

Ike didn’t answer immediately, and Soren didn’t want to respond. The only expertise he had in the matter of dark gods was witnessing Greil’s massacre as a child. But he couldn’t offer this contribution, and even if he did, it wouldn’t mean anything.

But then Ranulf slipped over to their table. “Hello all,” he greeted them, “Sorry to interrupt.” Intertwining his fingers on the tabletop, he replied charmingly: “Captain Titania, Soren, you’re both very perceptive. I’d expect nothing less from the deputy commander and strategist of the Greil Mercenaries. You don’t have to worry, though. The whole situation is under control. The medallion is under the protection of the Serenes royal family. Even if the god escaped, the herons can control it with their galdr.”

Soren didn’t like Ranulf’s tone nor his beseeching face. He needed the medallion to be a non-issue so he could continue with this war. He couldn’t accept it as a relevant danger.

“Reyson, Leanne, King Lorazieh, and…Prince Rafiel, was it?” Ike asked, counting on his fingers. There was still a strip of meat on his plate, but he was ignoring it for now.

“Ages ago,” Soren thought aloud, “it was a heron named Lehran who sealed the dark god within the medallion. You believe his kin can subdue it with the same seid magic?”

“That’s the story,” Ranulf agreed, but Soren wasn’t convinced. According to his research, Lehran hadn’t even been a member of the royal clan. He’d borne black wings, belonging to a tribe of Serenes nobles whose magic was slightly different than the white-winged royals. Inherent abilities aside, galdr relied on the user’s knowledge, just as beorc magic did. If a song wasn’t passed down, it was lost forever, and neither Reyson nor Leanne had ever claimed to actually know the galdr for suppressing dark gods.

“And what magic is that?” he decided to ask.

“The heron galdr for sleep,” Ranulf replied, as if that should be sufficient. But once again, Soren didn’t think it was that simple. Eight hundred years ago, the entire word had been flooded before the dark god could be subdued. During that time—be it three minutes or three years—Tellius’s founding heroes had defeated the dark god, not the heron tribe. Lehran may have laid the final enchantment on the medallion, but it had been the beorc Altina, the lion Soan, and the dragon Dheginsea who’d first weakened the god in battle. Needless to say, it had taken more than a lullaby.

He was about to point out this fact, when Ranulf changed the subject: “We’ll be relying heavily on the strength of the Greil Mercenaries. I am counting on you all.”

“Understood.” Titania drew a long breath, and some of her old strength seemed to return. “We’ll do our best to see this conflict finished as quickly as possible. Right, Ike?”

“Yes,” Ike promised, “Of course.” It appeared he too was willing to trust the herons’ unconfirmed ability to tame the ancient evil.

Realizing that Ike, Ranulf, and Titania were waiting for him to add his approval, Soren decided to give it: “Very well, we will continue to confront Begnion as planned,” he said. After all, he didn’t actually know what happened eight hundred years ago, and he didn’t know what they could do differently now.

Ranulf changed the topic immediately, this time to speculate how the bird tribes were faring. Soren tuned him out, because speculation without evidence, conjured merely to pass the time, could be detrimental.

The next day, the Greil Mercenaries and Skrimir’s battalion left Flaguerre through the eastern gate and then turned south to Mugill. Elite messengers had already cut through the mountains to convey their victory to the rest of the army, and the plan was to attack Mugill together. However, Soren had yet to come up with a viable plan to getting either half of the army inside.

Mugill’s walls were taller than Flaguerre, and in better repair. The gates were stronger, and Soren doubted a good shove from Skrimir was going to knock even the smallest one down. Unlike Flaguerre, the fortifications were singular and complete—there were no crumbling outworks to find a crack in or a staggered defense to take advantage of. The troops and artillery were all within the city, and Soren had to find a way to get a thousand Gallian troops in from the north and four thousand from the west.

The challenge was simple: how could he open the doors from the inside? But the answer was elusive. When the mercenaries had taken these cities from Daein years ago, the garrison had been stretched thin, and the mercenaries had had time to starve and exhaust their enemies. But now Mugill was positively bursting with soldiers (including those who’d fled Flagurerre), and the Gallian Army couldn’t wait for Begnion to make a mistake. Therefore, Soren found himself hoping someone else would have an idea when they met for a strategy meeting around midday. After all, he couldn’t be expected to conjure a miraculous solution for every one of the laguz’s battles. (Or at least, he hoped he wasn’t expected to). 

They’d left Flaguerre only two hours ago, but they were already resting at a recently-evacuated village halfway between the two cities. The elevation was high, and visibility was good, making it a safe place from which to conduct last-minute reconnaissance and decide the best way to approach the city.

Ike and Ranulf chose one of the abandoned houses to serve as their headquarters (which appeared to belong to a turnip farmer) and stacked up the wood in the fireplace. With the air warming around them, Ranulf unrolled a map of the city on the farmer’s empty table. “Now, our next target is Mugill,” he began. “Its gates are already sealed, and it looks like they intend to keep them that way. This won’t go as easily as our battle in Flaguerre.”

Skrimir released a long yawn. “Beorc are all the same. We will run them down, just as before.”

“Skrimir, please…” Ranulf begged, “Listen. Just this once.”

“What do you think, Soren?” Ike turned to him.

“The Flaguerre survivors will have warned of our advance,” Soren replied, addressing Ranulf. “That’s so obvious, even you must have anticipated it. You don’t have a plan?” He passed a cold glare from Ranulf to Skrimir.

“Do no mock me, beorc boy,” Skrimir growled, taking a step forward. “Why should I bother with plans? No soldier would cower behind stone walls after being challenged to battle. We will issue a challenge, and they will meet it. We have no need for plans!” Judging by the confident grin playing on Skrimir’s lips, Soren realized he was actually serious.

“Do you realize how completely absurd you sound?” he asked, unwilling to hide his astonishment. “The enemy did not build the fortress so they could stand outside of it. They will not come out of their own accord.”

“But-” Skirmir seemed honestly surprised by this observation, and Soren wondered what Ranulf and Caineghis had been teaching him. “Those beorc cowards! They will hide from us? What do we do? I do not know how to fight cowards!”

“Don’t you get it?” Ranulf seemed to be losing his patience. “That’s what we’re trying to decide! Think, Skrimir. Just try.”

“No!” Skrimir pouted, “That’s your job, Ranulf! You’re my second in command. Think of a way for me to use my strength! Anything else is just a waste of time. I’ll be training outside. Tell me when you have this ‘plan’.” With that, he shouldered his way out of the house

“Wait, Skrimir!” Ranulf tried to call him back, but the prince didn’t return.

“…This is ridiculous,” Soren hissed when he thought Skrimir was far enough away not to overhear. “I’m amazed someone was desperate enough to make that fool a general.”

“I’m tempted to agree with you on that,” Ranulf admitted. He eased himself into one of the shack’s wooden chairs as if his whole body suddenly ached. “But there’s a reason he’s here…” He shook his head weakly—as if wondering if the reason even mattered. “Never in its history has Gallia invaded another country. We don’t have any experience or tactics to fall back on for this. On top of that, our general… Well, you’ve seen it yourself. He doesn’t pay attention to details, and he doesn’t strategize. Sadly, it’s not just Skrimir. Most Gallian soldiers are the same. They’re arrogant and stubborn. It doesn’t even occur to them that they won’t be able to power through the beorc forever.”

“Why isn’t Caineghis leading the army?” Ike asked in a voice that suggested he was trying to remember if an actual excuse had ever been given.

“It’s not an option,” Ranulf returned flatly. “We aren’t mobile like the bird tribes. Once we leave our lands, it isn’t easy for us to get back. We can’t take our King away from his domain.”

“Well, what about Giffca, then?” Ike proposed, “There have to be other capable generals in Gallia.”

“Yeah, you’d think General Giffca would lead, but…” Ranulf shook his head again. “Giffca has other duties to attend to, so really, that just leaves Skrimir.” (Soren suspected these other duties included warming the king’s bed.)

“I understand the reason you mentioned—why Skrimir is here,” he said, but he was sure to keep his voice hard. He was expressing his understanding, not his sympathy or agreement. “Laguz choose their leaders based solely on strength and breeding. If Skrimir is to be the next king, this war is the only opportunity for him to learn about strategy.”

“Exactly,” Ranulf sighed. “And since that’s the case, we need all the help we can get. Please, lend us your wisdom.” He slowly moved his mismatched eyes from Ike, to Titania, to Soren. “Without your help, this war’s outcome is certain.”

“You can count on us, Ranulf,” Ike promised.

“We’ve told you already,” Titania assured. “We’re here to help.” Any shred of yesterday’s doubt was gone.

Soren, however, was not certain, and Skrimir’s most recent outburst had him debating this whole arrangement. The Laguz Alliance would lose this war with Skrimir in command, and that would mean Soren, Ike, and the rest of the mercenaries losing their lives. If Soren served as the army’s strategist in every battle—if he strained his creativity to discover a workaround for every challenge—and if he was lucky enough for these strategies to actually work—only then would the Laguz Alliance have a chance. Soren didn’t want that responsibility. He didn’t want to fail. And he simply did not want to continue serving Skrimir.

“Soren, say something!” Titania scolded, and he realized he’d been glaring at the door out of which Skrimir had disappeared.

“Well,” Ranulf observed, “Looks like your strategist isn’t fond of laguz just yet.”

Soren turned to Ranulf, but he refused to apologize or make his expression more amenable. The way he saw it, Ranulf was just as negligent as Skrimir. Had he and Caineghis truly believed hiring the Greil Mercenaries would be enough to gain victory?

“I’m sorry, Ranulf,” Titania apologized on his behalf. “He’s gotten better, but…”

“Soren.” Ike turned to him, and it was clear he was trying to sound serious without also sounding reprimanding. “Ranulf helped us out. On top of that, he’s our client. It’s our turn to return the favor, and our job to do it right. Got that?”

“…Fine,” Soren conceded. “But it’ll cost you more.”

Ike hesitated but then gave a small nod.

“Thanks,” Ranulf said in obvious relief, “all of you. We appreciate the help.”

Soren turned his gaze to the map, moving his eyes from one iron-bound gate to the next. “Give me some time to myself,” he said. “I’ll come up with a plan to get us through this mess.”

“Great,” Ike said (even though his voice indicated that he wasn’t quite sure it was great). “We’re counting on you, Soren.”

“I know,” he returned without looking up. “I will do what I can.” He reached for the first page of a report he’d already read, wondering if he might have missed something.

“I’ll tell Skrimir we’re delaying the invasion until tonight,” Ranulf offered, but Soren didn’t respond or look up. While he continued to read, the others left the shack. Ike was the last to leave, and although he seemed like he wanted to say something, he did not.

The afternoon slipped by, and Soren thought of innumerable ways he, Ike, the mercenaries, Skrimir, and the Gallian soldiers might all die horrible deaths to achieve absolutely nothing. He also thought of ways a large portion of the army might die so that Mugill could eventually be seized. But these strategies were not worth the mortal cost. This was only the second battle of the war; Soren needed to find a way to take Mugill without excessive losses.

When he needed to rest and reset his mind, Soren stared out of the shack’s windows. From here he could see Ike and Mia sparring, while Rhys served as referee and healer. (They appeared to be wielding their regular, unsheathed blades.)

Later he saw Boyd and Rolf fighting like a pair of little kids, despite the fact that Rolf was nineteen now and Boyd almost twenty-four. Rolf had grown long-legged and wiry, and Boyd could pass as Largo’s understudy.

Looking out a different window, Soren could see Mist sitting on a porch, mending clothes torn in the last battle, while Oscar was cooking over a massive spit nearby. A line of laguz had congregated to drool over the sizzling meat, while others dropped off the carcasses of animals they’d hunted in the woods or pilfered from the village’s abandoned pastures.

Skrimir was nowhere to be seen, but Ranulf and Kyza seemed to be keeping the troops busy. Lethe’s sister Lyre was always trailing behind one of them—and Gatrie always seemed to be trailing after Lyre. When he finally spoke to her, he blushed and looked nervous. When Lyre inevitably ran after Ranulf or Kyza again, Shinon approached. By his face and body language, it was obvious he was ridiculing Gatrie for something.

Soren pulled his attention back inside the turnip farmer’s house. He was foolishly letting his mind wander when he only had a few hours left to figure out how to get Mugill’s gates open. Staring at the city map, he had to admit the only way to accomplish this was to get a small force inside the city who could then unbar at least two gates before they were overwhelmed and slaughtered.

Gallian scouts had identified a couple places where the patrols were sporadic enough to leave a blind spot on the wall. One of these was only a quarter-mile from a minor entrance: a narrow gate leading to a horse paddock beyond the wall. If a small team could get over the wall, they could make their way to this entrance and let either the mercenaries or a specialized group of laguz, inside. However, even this entrance was amply guarded, and the team would have to defeat between thirty and forty soldiers—not counting the reinforcements who would arrive if someone sounded the alarm. Simply put, the team would die before they could open the little horse gate, let alone ferry in additional soldiers and get all the way to a main gate to let in Skrimir’s army.

Rubbing his temples, Soren tried to think of a new solution. The scent of Oscar’s cookfire drifted through the windows, and his stomach gurgled hungrily. His gaze strayed to a plate of food Mist had brought him hours ago. He’d been too distracted to touch it. Now it was cold, and there was a fly buzzing around it.

Looking out the window again, he saw Oscar serving yet another happy laguz with perky ears and hungry eyes. Then he looked at Mist, who’d finished her sewing and was now moving among the soldiers with a water pail and cup. Even from this distance, Soren could see her easy smile and disarming eyes. An idea struck him: Mist could be the key.

“I knew you could do it,” Ike said when Soren called them back, announcing that he’d come up with a solution. Skrimir hadn’t heeded the call, but Ranulf, Ike, and Titania had each returned.

“What’s the plan?” Ranulf asked excitedly.

“We select four women from the troops, dress them in plainclothes, and lift them over the wall with baskets of food and alcohol for the soldiers stationed at the northern horse gate. We will only have a couple minutes to get them over, so it must be fast. This food shall be dosed with sedatives, and when the soldiers are asleep, the operatives will unlock the gate to allow the rest of the Greil Mercenaries inside. The united party will then proceed one mile to the west where they will access the enemy ballistae and seize the northwestern gate. From here Skrimir can begin the siege of the city, while the Greil Mercenaries move swiftly to the northeastern gate, repeat the process, and allow Lieutenant Mordo and the rest of the army inside. With two main gates open, the city will inevitably fall to Gallia.”

After only a moment of contemplation, the questions came in a flood:

“What sedatives?” Ike asked in confusion. “Where can we get them?”

“Why do the operatives have to be women?” Titania asked huffily.

“How can we come up with four people?” Ranulf asked hopelessly. “The soldiers would recognize a laguz...”

Soren raised a hand to silence them. “We must send runners back to Flaguerre at once and have them requisition as much henbane, mandrake, and datura as possible from the local apothecaries. They must also acquire at least four bottles of the strongest liquor they can find, and—equally as important—performers’ makeup.”

“Why the makeup?” Ike asked, his confusion unabated.

“I recommend attaching Lethe and Lyre to this mission, and unfortunately, both have laguz markings on their cheeks. In the dark, and with hoods up, an actor’s makeup may be enough to hide them. Headscarves and dresses will have to suffice to hide their other laguz attributes.”

“And how are we going to hide Lethe’s personality?” Titania muttered under her breath.

It may have been rhetorical, but Soren answered anyway: “Lethe will have to act the part of a docile beorc woman. Or at the very least, she will have to keep her mouth shut. Lyre, I am less concerned about, and with Mist leading them, they should be able to pass as Begnion citizens.”

“Mist?” Ike repeated, his confusion evaporating. “No, it’s too dangerous.”

“I have to agree with Ike,” Ranulf said, “What if Lethe and Lyre are discovered? Even if they transform and get away, they’ll be trapped in the city and hunted down.”

“These poisons you speak of can cause hallucinations and aberrant behavior,” Titania added. “If the soldiers discover what’s happening before they fall asleep, they may lash out at the women who brought them the food.”

“Or what if not all the soldiers are hungry?” Ike asked, “There are too many things that can go wrong.”

Soren refused to back down. “This is the only way we are getting into the city tonight,” he said firmly. “If the soldiers do not want to eat, then Mist must convince them to. She can do it; you know she can.” This he said directly to Ike. “They will fall at her feet.”

Ike looked grumpily back at him but didn’t immediately respond.

Soren took this as permission to continue: “If some soldiers do not succumb to the poison, the operatives will have to eliminate them. Although Mist may not bring a sword with her, she can certainly pick one off of a fallen soldier. Lethe and Lyre will have their claws in case of emergency. None are defenseless.”

“Well,” Ranulf waffled, “maybe this could work after all…”

“I will go as well then!” Titania volunteered. “I will be the fourth woman, and I vow I will see the gate opened such that no blade or claw need be raised.”

“Unfortunately, you’re too tall,” Soren shot her down. “The reason for small, female operatives is not only that they will be easy to get over the wall but also that they will appear nonthreatening to the Begnion soldiers, the majority of whom are likely to be—statistically speaking—men interested in women. You are simply too threatening.”

Titania crossed her arms, but by the jut of her jaw, Soren knew she saw his logic. “Who then—Mia?”

“That is who I was thinking,” Soren agreed.

“Mia can’t do a Begnion accent,” Ike said suddenly, reminded everyone that he was there, even if he was brooding in the corner. “She can’t do it.”

Soren knew he was right about the accent, but he refused to let Mia’s poor acting skills ruin his plan. “Then she can keep as silent as Lethe,” he shot back, “or she can try her best.”

“No,” Ike said more firmly. “It has to be you.”

Soren furrowed his brow in annoyance. “Hilarious, Ike,” he replied, but he did give in: “Fine. Then we can send only three operatives, but they will not be able to carry as much food.”

“I’m not joking,” Ike said firmly.

“ _Ike_ ,” Soren hissed in warning. He suddenly felt the heat of embarrassment crawling under his collar. It was true that he was small, his hair was long, his neck was smooth, and if he wore a dress, he could probably pass as a girl in the dark. But he was also a Branded. “For obvious reasons,” he said, keeping his voice objective. “That would not work.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Titania forced a laugh, trying to brighten the mood, “You might make a lovely girl, Soren.”

“If we’re already covering up Lethe and Lyre’s marks, we can paint over your tattoo,” Ike said firmly.

“And if the soldiers discover I am not a girl?” Soren asked through gritted teeth.

“You being a boy is no more dangerous than Lethe and Lyre being laguz,” Ike returned confidently. “This is the only way I’m agreeing to this hairbrained scheme.”

“Isn’t that rather petty?” Soren asked in annoyance, wondering if it could possibly be fair for Ike to punish him just for putting Mist in harm’s way. 

“This isn’t about you; it’s about Mist,” Ike declared. “I trust you won’t let anything happen to her.”

This explanation made Soren’s frustration and embarrassment fade away. “Fine,” he conceded. “I will be the fourth operative. But we must put this plan into action quickly. Ranulf-” He turned to him.

“Uh, right!” The cat-man seemed somewhat mystified by the argument he’d just watch unfold, but at Soren’s prompting, he came back to himself and flashed a smile. “I’ll go tell Skrimir and get him to agree. Then I’ll send a party back to Flaguerre for supplies straight away!” With that, he leapt to his feet and dashed out of the shack. However, he did pause at the door, just long enough to say: “Oh, also, I’ll ask Kyza to help with the disguises. He knows what he’s doing.” With that he disappeared.

Titania stretched her arms above her head. “I believe this plan will work,” she announced before standing, “and to see it succeed, I will do my part. By your leave, Ike, I will go confer with the scouts and identify our opening to get the four over the wall tonight. Shinon was instrumental the last time we needed to rig a pulley system. I’ll be sure to acquire his help.”

Ike raised a hand to wave her off. “Yeah, do that. I’ll break the news to Mist and the others.” Titania marched out of the shack, and Ike turned to Soren. His mouth was set in a flat line as if thinking about something.

“I would not have suggested this plan if I did not believe it has the best chance of success,” Soren said to cut off whatever he was about to say.

“I know,” Ike replied, and he released a long exhale through his nose. “And I know Mist is capable of defending herself… But, it’s still a relief to know you’ll be there too.”

Soren nodded, taking a small moment to simply appreciate Ike’s trust.

Ike cleared his throat. “While I’m talking to the others, you should try to scrounge up some dresses and cloaks around the village. I’ll send them to find you after, so you can all get ready.”

“I will,” Soren agreed.


	3. CHAPTER 69: MUGILL

Ranulf’s claim about Kyza’s expertise proved true. The tiger had a keen eye for the appropriate garments, colors, and accessories necessary to pass the four off as demure young beorc women, and he proved adept at painting away Lethe and Lyre’s laguz markings. It was around this time that Mia barged into the shack and demanded to participate in the infiltration. Soren sent her to Ike, who (perhaps unsurprisingly) agreed. Mia returned, promising to stay calm and quiet on the mission, and despite the fact that getting five people over the wall would take longer, Soren didn’t argue.

It was his turn to receive a thick layer of the paste, which Kyza mixed to match his skin. It felt surprisingly heavy on his forehead, and when Kyza held a mirror to his face, Soren saw that the red lines of his Brand had become practically invisible. For the first time in his life, Soren looked like a beorc.

The effect was more unsettling than he’d anticipated, so when Kyza set down the mirror and began the next step—adding red pigment to his lips, pink powder to tops of his cheeks, and black ink to the corners of his eyes—Soren tried to distract himself with something he usually abhorred: conversation.

“How do you know how to do this anyway?” he growled at the tiger. “Do the duties of Gallian lieutenants often require them to masquerade as beorc women?”

Kyza didn’t immediately respond, apparently entirely focused on the task at hand.

However, Lyre spoke up from the other side of the room, where she was analyzing her already made-up face in a mirror. “Oh, it’s not part of his duties,” she replied, “Kyza switches back and forth and usually lives as a woman outside work hours.”

This surprised Soren, but Kyza didn’t bat an eyelash and no one else seemed surprised.

“That doesn’t quite answer my question,” he said, deciding to taking this information in stride. “Why live as a _beorc_ woman?”

“I do not,” Kyza replied, now speaking for himself. “I am merely interested in the ideals of beorc beauty and have therefore studied and practiced these techniques previously. Would you deny that many beorc are equally fascinated by aspects of laguz culture?”

Soren knew laguz (especially the women of Gallia and the men of Serenes) were often fetishized by beorc high society, but he didn’t think that was what Kyza meant. Of course, there were many scholars who wished to study laguz magic, history, religion, architecture, agriculture, and so on, but that seemed different too. The cultural appreciation Kyza was describing first required respect for the laguz as equals, and Soren had seen little of that anywhere in Tellius. Finally, he replied: “I wouldn’t know,” and decided conversation had been a bad decision after all.

At this point, Kyza removed the leather cords that bound his hair and began draping the dark locks over his shoulders. When next he showed Soren the mirror, his reflection looked like someone else entirely.

Lethe and Lyre had already undergone their transformations, so Kyza next turned his brushes on Mist’s and Mia’s faces. It wasn’t strictly necessary, but Soren supposed it would be less suspicious if they all matched. (And Mia, for one, seemed to be enjoying herself and probably wouldn’t have accepted being left out.)

When the task was done, Soren checked his reflection again and turned his gaze over the others. Whether or not it was Kyza’s intention, he couldn’t help but think they all looked like rather cheap hires at some two-bit brothel. Despite the tiger’s expert hand, their makeup still looked heavily applied. Soren knew such large quantities could be used by sickly prostitutes to hide rashes and boils, and the colored sashes wrapped around Lethe’s and Lyre’s heads were often used by beorc women to hide premature balding from their clients. Soren just hoped the modest dresses and roomy cloaks would prevent the soldiers from actually mistaking them for prostitutes.

Darkness had already fallen, and an hour or so later, Soren was repelling down the side of Mugill’s northern wall. For now, visibility was slightly better than it had been during Flaguerre’s siege, but the fog still worked in their favor. It was also colder than the previous night, and Soren hoped that would help too.

By the time the Begnion guard marched back across the ramparts with torch in hand, all five interlopers were tucked into the shadows of Mugill’s cozy northern residential district. The thump of their boots and the swish of their skirts and cloaks were the only sounds in these empty streets, and the windows of the homes they passed were all dark. Soren wondered if the civilians had been evacuated deeper into the city or if they were merely abiding by a lights-out curfew.

He considered these details and absorbed every aspect of the sealed fortress in order to distract himself from his disguise and sticky forehead.

Eventually they arrived at their destination. “Sorry we’re late!” Mist called breathlessly when they finally jogged into the firelit stable yard.

The closest soldiers, who’d been playing cards until hearing Mist’s announcement, suddenly leapt to their feet. “Who are you?” one demanded.

“Why are you outside? The city is under lockdown!” exclaimed another.

“You need permission to leave your homes!” declared the third.

These outbursts had drawn the attention of every soldier within earshot, including the ones currently standing on the wall above the gate. Soren counted thirty-two total: twenty on the ground and twelve archers on the battlements.

“What?” Mist cocked her head, not appearing the least afraid. “We were told to hand out food to all the watchmen.” She jostled her basket, which she held clasped with two hands against her stomach. The way she moved made the basket seem heavier than it was, and the tilt of her shoulders made her look weak under the burden.

“Wh-what?” the first soldier gaped.

Mist turned so she was facing Soren and the others. “Well, I guess this must not be the place,” she proposed tentatively, “Should we head back? I don’t want the food to spoil…” The pout in her voice was perfectly balanced, and Soren marveled at her skill as an actress.

Lyre adjusted her own basket, nervously rearranging the cloth as if embarrassed. “I don’t know…” she murmured and succeeded in revealing a loaf of freshly baked bread and the corner of a still-warm pork roast to the freezing night air. The scent must have reached the soldiers nearest her, one of whom immediately reached out and said, “W-wait! Don’t go! You don’t have to head back.”

A man with the winged helmet of a Begnion captain strode forward, and Soren was only worried for a second—then he saw his hungry eyes. “That food is for us. I’m sure of it!” he announced.

“Oh, wonderful!” Mist beamed, and her smile seemed to melt the heart of each soldier she made eye contact with. “Would you call everyone then, sir?” she asked, turning back to the captain. “We’ll pass out the food and drinks.” On her last word, she adjusted the basket again, this time moving it to her hip so she could hold it with one hand. The two liquor bottles inside clinked together. Drawing her free hand away, she loosened the scarf around her neck.

“Yes, certainly.” The captain’s eyes widened. “You lot! Form up!” This was followed by plenty of confusion and commotion as those farthest away didn’t know what they were supposed to be doing and those closest rushed eagerly toward Mist. “A line! Form a line!” the captain called. “Come now, comrades! Show these ladies the discipline of the Imperial Army!”

While Mist did most of the talking and made sure every soldier ate or drank at least a little, Soren did his best to mingle among them. He tried not to appear standoffish but quickly discovered he had no idea how to be charming. That being said, his lackluster performance didn’t seem to deter the soldiers, who beckoned, whistled, and called out to him to bring his basket over. (As he did so, he found himself sympathizing with his female comrades whom he knew endured such drivel on a regular basis from enemies, allies, and strangers alike.)

While Mist, Mia, and Lethe cajoled the men below, Soren and Lyre were escorted up the stairs to the ramparts, where they distributed the last of the food and alcohol until their baskets were empty. Their escort had been one of the first to eat, and now he was swaying. Fortunately Lyre seemed to notice this. She pulled her cloak tighter. “It’s so much colder up here,” she said with a false shiver, “but the view is amazing!” She took a step toward him, and as expected, he wrapped an arm around her. 

“Here, I’ll…keep you warm…” he mumbled, and Lyre supported his weight while he leaned his head into her neck and fondled her breasts. Her eyes widened in rage, but she maintained her submissive body language and didn’t react. Soren marveled at her discipline; he could never imagine Lethe abandoning her pride like this, even for the success of a mission.

With that thought in mind, he turned his gaze to the stable yard below. Soldiers were singing discordantly, and Soren heard slurred voices rising to meet him. The captain was already sitting in a slump, but Mist was crouched next to him, apparently talking and pretending he was behaving normally. The card-playing soldiers were also snoozing soundly. In one corner, it appeared a soldier was having some sort of seizure, but Lethe pulled him into a vacant stall (perhaps under the pretense of giving him some air). Now she was just staring at his lurching body with her head cocked. Soren hoped no one else would notice. Turning his gaze to the brazier where several people were gathered, he was surprised to see a flurry of activity. Mia was dancing in the center while soldiers sat around her, leaning against each other, and swiftly falling asleep.

Soren dared to think this plan was going perfectly, when he suddenly felt a pair of arms wrap around his neck and chest from behind. “*Spirits of-*” the ancient words came to his lips before he bit his tongue to stop them. He’d instinctively reached for the page of spells hidden under his dress, but now he moved his hand to the archer’s armored forearm instead.

“Yer a pre’y li’l gal…” his fowl-smelling breath hissed into his ear.

Soren pulled the arm away and ducked out of the man’s embrace. Turning to face him, he kept his chin tucked down so the hood still shadowed his face. He didn’t trust his voice not to give him away, so he said nothing.

“Come on…” the archer moaned, and although Soren thought he could effectively fend off one soldier without magic, another was staggering toward him on his left. The rest of the archers had abandoned their bows and their watch. Some were sitting, some lying down, and still others were leaning over the parapets as if they suddenly had no fear of falling—but not these two.

The one in front of him embraced him again, sleepily nuzzling his neck. Soren set his feet and stopped himself from being knocked over. But a second later, the other man reached them and seized Soren’s face in his clumsy hands. To Soren’s horror, the man’s greasy maw dropped open, and his tongue swept a wet line from the corner of his mouth to his ear. Soren’s body shuddered in revulsion, and he resisted the urge to fight back or utter a wind spell that would slice these soldiers to bits.

With his head tilted to the side like this, he could see that not all of the soldiers on the ground were unconscious yet. One was pursuing Mist with lurching, disjointed steps, laughing and trying to grab her. Her face was split in a pained attempt to remain smiling, and she was walking backward with palms raised.

“This’n’s mine,” slurred the man at his neck to the man holding his face. He tried to push him away. “Get yer own.”

The man staggered back, and Soren hoped they would fight each other and leave him alone. Unfortunately, the man ran right back into Soren. This time he couldn’t keep his footing, not with both soldiers leaning on him. They fell awkwardly, and although Soren tried to pull himself away, the man with the grabby hands found his face again. He pushed Soren’s skull into the cold stone floor, and this time, his tongue found Soren’s mouth, which he tried to clamp shut in disgust.

The other man’s hands were starting to pinch and crawl steadily down his neck to his chest. “Har’ li’l, fla’ li’l, my li’l girl,” he mumble-sang as he continued down to his stomach.

Soren tried to push off the kissing man and then the singing man. He kicked out, but they were large and wearing armor. Soren had no leverage, and he was horrified by how weak and powerless he suddenly felt. The singing man’s searching, squeezing fingers had nearly reached his groin, and that was the last straw.

Whether or not the majority of the soldiers were unconscious, Soren couldn’t stand to wait any more. Wrenching his head to the side, he spat out the spell as quickly as he could. “*Spirits of wind*—” he wrenched his head to the other side to avoid the kissing man’s persistent tongue “—*follow my hand*—” he reached out his arm between the two archers, guiding the winds toward them “—*blast their flesh*!”

The gusts arced down, straight at Soren, but he split them, dividing the gale to either side, where the they hammered down on the men’s torsos. The archers jolted and shuddered under the attack, and one spat up blood on Soren’s face. But neither called out in pain or surprise, and in a moment, they were both dead.

Picking himself up, Soren glanced around to make sure no one had seen. Down below, everyone was either asleep or dead. Lethe was standing over the man who’d been pursuing Mist, and she had a shovel in her hands. Mist, meanwhile, was standing unharmed nearby. Across the yard, Mia tossed a sword into a horse stall and clasped her hands innocently behind her back, strutting away from two bodies lying beside the brazier.

Turning his attention back to the battlements, Soren noticed ten sleeping archers in addition to his two corpses. But the escort from below was missing. Lyre was looking over the wall with a grimace on her face. “I couldn’t help it,” she said, crossing her arms when she noticed Soren looking at her. “I threw him over the side.”

Since Soren didn’t remember hearing a scream and he didn’t hear trumpets of alarm now, he decided this was acceptable. “It is fine,” he said. “The plan still worked.” He and Lyre descended to the stable yard, where Mist was taking charge by locating the captain’s keys.

“Good work, everyone!” she said, walking over the gate. “Are you all alright?” She glanced left and right, assessing their appearances, but she didn’t comment on the blood staining Soren’s face and clothes.

While she worked the lock, he went to a horse trough and lifted handfuls of water to remove the man’s blood and saliva from his cheek. While he was at it, he kneeled down and scrubbed the makeup away. He wanted it gone; and he never wanted to think about the unpleasantness of this evening again. A horse knickered and lowered its head to nibble his hair, but Soren backed up before it could. “ _Don’t touch me_ ,” he snarled at the animal before he could bite his tongue and feel foolish for the overreaction.

Returning his attention to Mist, he could see that she’d opened the gate and was hanging a lantern in the threshold to signal that the mission was complete. When this was done, she addressed the others in a loud whisper: “While we wait for Ike, we had better tie everyone up! Make sure to prop some up so the look like they fell asleep on the job. Cover any bloodstains with hay.” She clapped her hands together. “Let’s get to work.”

“Looks like the watchmen are all asleep,” Ike observed when he and the other mercenaries finally darted through the gate. He cast his eyes over the last limp figure Lethe and Lyre were dropping into an empty stall. “Great job, everyone.”

Mist smiled at the praise and accepted the sword belt and staff he handed her.

“The first step is done,” Soren replied simply, “Next, we clear out the remaining guards to the west and open the main gate.” He handed him the reins of one of the nine horses Mist had saddled, and in return, Ike handed him his tome and holster.

While Soren was latching this on, he was surprised to feel a sudden, soft yank on his hair. Someone’s knuckles brushed the back of his neck. His jerked his head upward, but he wasn’t afraid. He knew who this was, and his shock was replaced by not-unpleasant bewilderment.

“Hey, don’t move,” Ike complained as he sloppily tied a leather cord to hold back the majority of his hair. “Blast, this is harder than you make it look,” he grumbled.

Soren was too tongue-tied to respond, but a moment later Ike was finished.

“Ranulf and his troops are waiting outside for us,” he announced loud enough for everyone to hear, “Let’s go!”

Soren remained frozen a few more seconds but finally managed to reclaim himself and finish strapping the tome on over his dress. Then he rushed to mount his horse and follow the others.

The scouts had reported that the northwestern gate was guarded with forty infantry, twenty archers, and three rolling catapults. A quarter mile behind the gate was a barracks tower that housed between fifty and seventy soldiers as reinforcements. Soren estimated a five-minute response time from the tower, which meant the mercenaries had only that long from the sounding of the first alarm to get the gate open and let Skrimir, Ranulf, and the rest of the battalion inside.

They crossed a few patrols and watchmen on their way to the gate, but they managed not to slow their charge. Rolf and Shinon took out any soldiers who noticed them from the wall, and Lethe and Lyre—who were loping alongside in their cat forms—tackled any unlucky patrolman who happened into their path.

Before long, they made it to the western gate, and at their approach, a chorus of trumpets and confused shouts rose from the soldiers. “Who-who are you!” one screamed when Ike leapt from his horse and drew his sword before touching the ground. He rolled, and by the time he was on his feet again, the man who’d asked the question was dead.

“Subhumans!” screamed another soldier, just before Lethe sunk her already bloody teeth into his neck. 

“What’s going on?” demanded another, who was now seeking shelter behind a stack of crates to avoid Rolf’s slew of arrows. “What happened to the lookout!”

A woman in a winged helmet, who must have been the captain of this regiment, jogged to the gatehouse. “Stand your ground!” she ordered her troops. “Our reinforcements will be here soon. Hold fast until they arrive! Do not let them near the gate!”

Over a minute had already elapsed, but Soren’s plan didn’t hinge on taking the gatehouse by force. Ike was already leading the mercenaries to the ballistae, and Soren conjured a Thunder spell to help eliminate the confused guardsmen and engineers manning the catapults. It was clear by their faces that they didn’t know whether to stay at their posts or join the rest of the troops who were now forming a shield wall by the gate. Before they could decide, however, they were completely routed, and Shinon was taking charge of the machines.

“Slide them all the way back! Move that one down a tick! A tick! Okay, twenty degrees! Not that way!” he hissed and rattled until Soren, Rolf, Rhys, and Mia had them in position. Ike, Gatrie, and Boyd were already loading the basins at the end of the catapults’ arms.

“Stop them!” growled the captain when she realized her mistake. Her soldiers broke formation, rushing forward, but Soren knew they wouldn’t make it.

Titania, Oscar, and Mist fended off the first to reach them, but the majority were still near the gate—just in time to be pummeled by rocks when Ike shouted, “Fire!”

Most ducked or threw themselves onto their stomachs, while others were only hit with minor debris. But still others were knocked completely off of their feet, their necks or legs broken, their skulls concussed or shattered. Most importantly of all, the central catapult sent a large boulder straight at the center of the gate. The wooden panels thumped loudly, the metal chains that reinforced them rattled, the wooden bar across them cracked.

“Don’t let them reload!” the captain ordered, and her soldiers resumed the charge.

However, Ike, Shinon, Gatrie, and Boyd were already resetting and reloading, and Soren and the rest were ready to defend them. “*Spirits of the wind, rip apart these skies,*” Soren chanted, conjuring Tornado for the first time in years, “*lay waste to my enemy!*” The winds encased a half dozen soldiers, hitting them from all angles, tearing their armor and shredding any exposed flesh. When the spell faded, the three at the center crumpled to the ground, pooling blood even if they weren’t dead yet. The other three were quickly picked off by Rolf’s arrows and Mist’s sword.

Soren could hear a tide of noise rising in the streets behind him, and he knew the reinforcements couldn’t be more than a minute away. If this volley didn’t work, the mercenaries would be caught between the gatekeepers and the reinforcements, and they would be killed.

“Fire!” Ike shouted at the same moment he rushed past Soren, raising his sword in both hands. The rocks flew overhead, and three big ones collided with the gate in quick succession. When the last one made contact, the doors split apart with an enormous crack.

“No… We’ve lost the gate!” the captain cried in despair. She and her soldiers were looking over their shoulders at the ajar panels, and the mercenaries wasted no time taking advantage of their lapse in attention.

The first wave of reinforcements was arriving, and the mercenaries pushed forward to get away from them, cutting down the survivors of the original regiment and braving the rain of arrows from atop the wall.

Soren abandoned his own safety and focused on weaving a wall of wind to slash the arrows out of the air before his comrades turned into pin cushions. Then, suddenly, the arrows stopped. The archers had turned their attention to the other side. Soren heard Skrimir roaring beyond.

Glancing around, Soren saw that Ike was locked in battle with the captain. “When did subhumans learn to wield swords?” she gasped. “Impossible! I can’t believe my eyes!”

Ike laughed. “You underestimate them,” he replied before his blade found purchase on the inside of her right arm. With what looked to Soren like a flick of his wrist, Ike removed her limb from the elbow down, and her sword landed into the dirt. She fell to her knees, screaming and holding the bleeding stump.

Ike glanced around, and his eyes found Soren’s. “Are we clear?” he asked.

“Yes,” Soren replied. Tearing his gaze away from Ike, he saw Gatrie and Boyd pushing the gate open wider. Soren could see Skrimir now, charging at the head of his beast army. On unspoken agreement, he and Ike got out of the way. “Good work, everyone!” Ike called above the sound of the beast stampede.

The mercenaries cheered their agreement, while Lethe and Lyre raced up the stairs built into the side of the gatehouse. At the top they tore into the archers currently firing on the Gallians. “I’m coming too!” declared Mia, who plunged her sword into its scabbard and scrambled up the ladder on the opposite side.

Just then, Skrimir burst through the open gate, and the gust of air the laguz charge brought with it was enough to flutter Soren’s cloak and skirt. Skrimir ran right over the Begnion captain, who’d remained kneeling and sobbing in the middle of the bailey. Any other soldiers who hadn’t gotten out of the way were similarly trampled.

While the laguz began fighting the reinforcements, Titania and Oscar trotted up with the majority of the escaped horses in tow. “We couldn’t find all of them, so we’ll have to double up!” Titania announced, and Oscar extended a hand to Rolf, who accepted it and hopped behind his brother.

Soon everyone was mounted, and Soren found himself sharing a horse with Rhys. Since he was marginally a better rider, he was seated in front, and Rhys had his hands wrapped around him for safety. With memory of the Begnion soldiers still fresh in his mind, Soren was even more opposed to being touched than usual right now. But he bit back his disgust and urged the horse in the direction they’d come.

“Wait!” Ike ordered and called up to the ramparts: “Hey, Mia!”

“Coming, Boss!” came her voice. A moment later, she was sliding down a rope, which she then leapt off of, landing right behind Ike’s saddle. “Wa-hoo!” she shouted when the creature inevitable spooked and took off running.

“ _Yah!_ ” Titania kicked her own steed so they wouldn’t get too far ahead, and everyone else spurred their mounts to join the charge.

Soren’s stupid horse backed up several steps and jerked its head against the reins, but eventually it gave in to his orders and ran to catch up with the rest.

“We’re heading straight east until we get to the next big gate!” Ike reminded everyone when he had regained control of his steed. “Don’t stop if you don’t have to!”

“Yes, Boss!” the others replied. And yet they hadn’t gone more than a mile before Oscar suddenly pulled to halt. Soren could neither see nor sense any Begnion soldiers around, so he had no idea what had caused him to stop. Some civilians had poked their heads out to see the horses, but they’d been doing that for several blocks now. It shouldn’t have been surprising.

“Boyd!” Ike called, “Go check on them and catch up! We can’t afford to stop!”

“Aye, Boss!” Boyd saluted and started slowing down. Soon all three brothers were lost from view. This wasn’t part of the plan, but Soren just gritted his teeth and hoped they would still be enough to take the eastern gate.

Most of the reinforcements in this district were already being deployed to help counteract Skrimir’s assault. But there would still be fifty or so soldiers stationed at the gate, and reinforcements could come from the south with a response time of about ten minutes. 

“We hit them fast and get that gate open, same as last time!” Ike encouraged the others, but Soren noticed his eyes kept flicking backward as if to confirm that Oscar, Boyd, and Rolf had yet to catch up.

When they neared the wall, Soren heard a deafening chorus of angry roars and realized the tiger laguz known as Lieutenant Mordo must have already started the siege. By the sound of it, his troops were trying to batter down the gate, which was ridiculous given its fortification. Meanwhile they were being pelted with arrows from atop the wall and steel bolts from the mounted scorpions. There were also more Begnion soldiers here than expected, because Mordo’s premature assault had drawn them out.

“We’re late,” Ike called out, “We have to help them! Hurry!”

Since there were no catapults here and the scorpions would be difficult to reach, the mercenaries would seize this gate by more traditional means. First they used their momentum to plow their way to the front, and here Gatrie and Ike dismounted and attempted to heave the giant wooden plank out of its lock. Meanwhile, Soren and the others set up a perimeter and devoted every ounce of their strength to defending them.

Soren cast Tornado a second time, and when that was not enough to make a difference, he tried to cast Bolganone. “*Spirits of flame, molten rock, lay waste to my enemy!*” He willed the lava to make a barrier between Ike and his would-be attackers, but he couldn’t maintain it for more than a ten seconds before he was hit by dizziness and had to let it go.

Summoning his strength, he cast two spells in quick succession and sustained them both at the same time: Bolganone to make another moat and Wind to take out the arrows that had just started flying. The strain was even worse, and he felt as if the spells were trying to pull his consciousness in two directions, threatening to tear him apart. The impudent spirits rebelled against his control, like children who both demanded his full attention. Again he had to release the spells, and the backlash of pain and dizziness was so fierce he thought at first that he’d been bludgeoned in the back of the head.

But he was still standing and still conscious, and his efforts had bought time for Boyd to appear. He lent his shoulder to Gatrie and Ike, helping to finally budge the heavy timber. Oscar was here as well, impaling Begnion soldiers on the end of his lance, and Rolf was sitting backwards behind him, firing arrows into anyone Oscar missed. Soren cast a few simple spells to stay alive, but they were all he could manage now. A soldier thumped him in the face with the butt of his axe, and with Soren’s final spell, he electrocuted him.

“Clear the way!” Ike bellowed, and Soren didn’t need a second warning. Abandoning the stunned axman, he ran to the side and pressed himself against the gatehouse. An instant later, a flood of laguz poured into the baily, decimating the regiment Soren and the others had been struggling to fend off.

Panting hard, Soren tasted blood and wiped his mouth. His nose was bleeding freely over his mouth and chin. Ike and Boyd joined him, staying against the wall to avoid the stampeding laguz.

“We did it,” Ike sighed in relief. He removed the band around his forehead and used his teeth to tie it around his arm as a tourniquet. There was an arrow shaft sticking out of his forearm, but Soren respected his decision not to remove it until he had Mist or Rhys present.

“Sorry about that,” Boyd grumbled. “We had a little family issue.”

“You can tell me about it later.” Ike shook his head. “You were there when we needed you, and that’s what matters.”

“Still… Sorry.”

Soren was mildly curious to know what had happened, but not enough to ask. He wiped his mouth again and focused on regaining his breathing. As soon as this hoard of laguz was out of the way, he was going to find a healer, get his nose fixed, and call it a night. The Gallian Army was over five thousand strong. Now that they were inside, they didn’t need him.

“Heh, nice dress,” Boyd teased, and it took Soren a moment to realize he was talking to him.

Looking down at the ripped, bloodstained garment, Soren suddenly felt it had been a very long night. “Shud ub,” he said, shooting Boyd an annoyed glance and pinching his broken nose.


	4. CHAPTER 70: TELGAM

By dawn, the city was firmly in Gallia’s hands, and Ranulf was run ragged finding lodging for the full army. Fortunately he made the Greil Mercenaries a priority, and they were given soft beds in the citadel.

Soren had just finished washing up and was on his way to get some sleep when he found Ike waiting outside his room. “Commander?” he greeted him, because Ike’s eyes were closed and he seemed to be dozing against the wall.

At his voice, Ike shook himself awake. “Ah, Soren, there you are.”

“Do you need something?”

“Oh, I, uh, just wanted to say good work last night,” Ike explained lamely.

“You waited to tell me that?” Soren asked, pushing the door open. He strode inside, while Ike leaned against the open threshold. “You should have just gone to sleep.”

“Well, actually…Mist told me she saw you fall down. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Soren suspected he knew what Mist had told him, and he fought to control his embarrassment. “Fell?” he repeated.

“Well, she said ‘pushed’…while you were on the wall by the stable yard. She said there were some soldiers who took a while to succumb to the poison.”

“But succumb they did.” Soren crossed his arms. “I assure you I was in no danger.”

“Still…” Now Ike was the one who looked embarrassed. “I realize now why you might have been spooked when I touched-”

“There was no problem,” Soren cut him off. Although Ike’s decision to pull his hair out of his face before the battle had surprised him at the time, in retrospect, it was reasonable given the fact that they’d been in a rush. He’d been wrong to let it stun him.

“But I shouldn’t have put you in that situation in the first place,” Ike continued, “I was so worried about Mist I forgot-”

“Think nothing of it,” Soren cut him off again.

Ike gave a discontented sigh as if to say he couldn’t forgive himself that easily.

Silence stretched between them until Soren thought to say, matter-of-factly, “I killed them.”

A small, somewhat relieved smile crept onto Ike’s face. “Good,” he said, “because if you didn’t, I might be in the dungeons looking for them right now.”

Soren thought this was a bizarre claim for Ike to make, but in case it was true, he decided to give him no reason to accost the prisoners in the basement. “Lethe took care of Mist’s attacker, and Mia and Lyre defended themselves sufficiently. The honor of your mercenaries remains intact.”

Ike’s smile widened as if this were a joke. “Mist told me,” he said simply, “but I’m glad to hear it from you too.”

Soren shook his head, finding he was annoyed by Ike’s concern when he wished he could just appreciate it. “Why worry about it now?”

“Huh?”

“You never spent much time in the infirmary, so perhaps you did not know the things your own soldiers said or tried to do to your sister during the war. But she always put them in their place, and she always healed their wounds regardless.”

“What are you talking about?”

Soren continued as if he hadn’t heard him: “But I know you know the things enemy soldiers said to her on the battlefield—what bandits and brigands have always said to her when she confronts them with sword and staff. Titania and Mia are disproportionately targeted as well. You know this.”

Ike said nothing for several moments, obviously chastised.

Soren regretted his harsh rebuttal. “It doesn’t matter.” He shook his head. “I am just tired.” Sitting on his bed, he started taking off his shoes. He still a headache from the strain of casting such advanced spells, and he truly did want to sleep. But part of him also hoped Ike had something else to say and would stay longer.

“Yeah,” Ike yawned, “I’ll let you get some rest.” Despite his words, he lingered in the doorway.

“You should rest too, Ike,” Soren advised, although he didn’t know why he was pushing him away. They could talk about Mist, they could talk about the battle, they could talk about anything. Soren could try to be less harsh; he just wanted Ike to stay. But he said nothing.

“Yeah…” Ike seemed distracted by something as he stared back at him. “Yes, I’ll do that.” With another yawn, he finally turned around and closed the door closed behind him. Once he was gone, Soren turned down the bed covers and cursed himself for wishing he’d stayed. As he fell asleep, he scolded himself for dreaming of Ike’s tongue and hands and berated himself for wishing his safe, gentle touch could replace the memory of those soldiers. He fell asleep with one hand under the back of his neck and imagined he could still feel the unexpected brush of Ike’s knuckles. Why had that felt so different, so good?

It was afternoon when someone knocked on his door. Opening it, Soren stared at the laguz, whose shifting eyes seemed not to want to look at him and who didn’t immediately explain his presence.

“Do you have a report to give me?” Soren asked in annoyance.

The cat soldier bunched his shoulders and finally turned to face Soren directly. But he still didn’t look at him. Instead, he seemed to be looking at the floor behind him. “Beorc reinforcements have arrived. Your commander is meeting with them now. Captain Ranulf bid me include you.”

Soren sighed, accepting that this was the best he could expect from laguz forced to acknowledge his existence. “Very well, where are they?”

After getting dressed, Soren made his way to the western gate, where Ike, Titania, and some of the other mercenaries were greeting the new arrivals. Brom, Nephenee, Heather, and Haar had come from the east, via Gallia, and dropped off their belongings at the citadel on their way here. Ilyana, Aimee, Muston, Daniel, and Jorge had come from the west, via Begnion, and only just arrived.

Aimee was currently hanging on Ike’s arm, crooning while he grimaced and tried to pull away. “Why did it take so looong!” she moaned. “All these years without a word from my Ikey-poo!”

“Well, we weren’t at war so-” Ike tried to defend himself.

“That’s enough, Aimee, let the man breathe!” Muston laughed, clapping Ike on the back.

Aimee pouted but let go, and now that Ike was free, Soren turned his attention to the other conversations around him. He milled about, eavesdropping in case anyone had useful information, but nothing was being said that he didn’t already know or expect. Ilyana and the merchants had participated in the Daein Revolution along with Jill, Zihark, and Brom’s daughter Meg—all of whom had refused to come due to their continued commitment to King Pelleas’s new regime. Soren doubted Volke was going to show up any time soon, either, which meant these were the only reinforcements the Greil Mercenaries were going to get.

“Soren,” Ilyana greeting him dreamily, breaking his concentration. She draped her arms around him in a loose hug. Soren remained rigid until she backed away. “You look the same,” she observed, tilting her head to the side. Soren didn’t reply, but this didn’t seem to bother Ilyana who smiled and said simply, “Ike says you are still his tactician; that must mean you know where the food is.” Crossing her arms across her stomach she released a long sigh. “I hear laguz eat lots of meat… Ooh, I can’t wait.” Drool gathered at the corner of the slack smile.

Soren shook his head and found himself oddly relieved Ilyana was the same food-obsessed woman she’d always been. “You will want to go to the citadel’s mess hall. First floor, to the right of the armory. You can’t miss it.”

“Ah!” Ilyana clasped her hands eagerly and floated away. 

The rest of the mercenaries, merchants, and recruits were not far behind her, but Soren felt Ike’s hand on his shoulder. “Not us,” he said, and Soren noticed Titania was standing beside him. “Ranulf says Skrimir wants to know our next move. He’s called a war meeting over there.” He jerked his thumb at the western barracks tower.

Soren nodded, and the trio separated from the rest of the group, uniting with Ranulf at the base of the tower. When they arrived at the briefing room, Skrimir welcoming them with a wide smile and open arms. “Your beorc strategy has made the Begnion soldiers ashamed of their silly walls!” he said, “Tell me the next strategy, and we laguz will defeat another city!”

“There is no other city,” Soren replied, taking a seat. “At least not yet. For now, we must sit on the two we have and prove to Begnion that the Laguz Alliance is not bluffing.”

“What?” Skrimir exclaimed, aghast. “We have two victories in three nights! We must take another tomorrow!”

Soren glared at Skrimir. “If you run ahead without thinking, you will get your army trapped in Begnion and killed. We must see how the theocracy responds and then counter appropriately.”

“I don’t know, Soren,” Ike argued, “If we slow down now, we give the northern senators more time to prepare their armies.”

“Where are these armies and how many do they number?” Soren asked pointedly. “Without knowing the strength and position of our enemies, it is foolish to move forward. We must gain intelligence now, and that requires dispatching laguz spies disguised as beorc civilians. That is our next mission: not a single battle or siege but extensive reconnaissance. In the meantime, we take control of the lands immediately east of here, appropriating food and supplies for the army. We must make contact with Tibarn and Naesala as well. Only when all of this is accomplished—only _then_ can we move east to Telgam, confront the Northern Army, and unite with the bird tribes at an optimal time and place.”

Ike seemed surprised by this response, but after a moment’s contemplation he agreed. “That makes sense. If we hadn’t taken the time to do that in Daein, we never would have reached Nevassa.”

“Argh,” Skrimir growled grumpily. “It sounds like a waste of time to me!”

“No, Skrimir, Soren is right,” Ranulf spoke up, “even if you don’t want to hear it. We can’t have a battle every day.”

“But this is war!” Skrimir argued, as if Ranulf were the one being naïve. “We should have a battle every other day at least!”

“There will be plenty to do in the meantime,” Titania consoled the prince. “Plus, many of your soldiers are still injured from these past battles. Laguz heal quickly, that is true, but they must take time to rest their bodies.”

Skrimir crossed his arms but gave in: “Fine! For now, we shall celebrate our victories, and those senators to the east will know fear when they hear our songs!”

“Er, I’m sure they will,” Ranulf agreed. 

That evening the mercenaries, the merchants, and their laguz friends gathered at a long table for dinner, and halfway through the meal, Ike confronted Ilyana about her involvement in the Daein Revolution. Soren had expected this might be coming.

“I heard the Black Knight fought in the rebellion,” he said during the second course. His voice was directed at Ilyana, but Daniel and Jorge were sitting on either side of her and both looked as if they’d just been scolded. Ilyana was too busy stuffing her face to look chastised.

“Hmm?” she mumbled around the leg she was expertly undressing with her teeth.

“Did you meet him?” Ike asked outright. He was obviously trying to keep his tone casual (he was never one to lash out at his friends), but the barb in his voice couldn’t be blunted.

Ilyana cocked her head and lowered the bone. “The Black Knight always stayed at Micaiah’s side in battle,” she recalled, “And when the fighting was done, he would disappear— _poof!_ ” Raising a hand, she cast out all her fingers in a single burst.

“While I doubt the man ‘poofed’, per say,” Muston agreed from farther down the table, “I never saw him after a battle. He never came to me to have his armor or sword repaired.”

“And he certainly never came to _my_ shop.” Aimee leaned across the table to grasp Ike’s hand, which he quickly pulled away so she couldn’t reach it. “I would never serve the nasty man who hurt my sweet Ikey.”

“Er, glad to hear it.” Ike forced a smile, but he clearly wasn’t happy.

“When the Black Knight appeared to support Ashnard’s son, did it never occur to you Daein might be in the wrong?” Soren found himself asking. These supposed friends had betrayed Ike, and he wanted to know why.

“No, that’s not what I mea-” Ike tried to diffuse the accusation.

“I don’t know about the Knight,” Aimee said primly, “But Micaiah is an absolute gem! And Prince- or rather, King Pelleas seems kind enough.”

Daniel and Jorge nodded their agreement.

“We were in jail when Micaiah found us,” Ilyana added in a distant voice. “The Begnion soldiers only fed us once a day. But when she came, she said I could eat three meals a day with the Daein Army.”

Ike shook his head, but the corners of his mouth were upturned in a tiny smile. “Fair enough,” he said. “I’m just glad you’re all okay.”

“Daein wasn’t in the wrong,” Haar spoke up. “Jill wouldn’t still be there if there wasn’t hope for setting Daein back to the way it’s supposed to be.” 

“Meg too!” Brom added from a few seats down. The rest of the conversation had died, and it appeared everyone was listening now. “I’m so proud of her! She left home to find a husband and found a war instead! Golly, she’s going to be even stronger than me someday.” He nudged Oscar, who was sitting beside him, “Have I shown you her picture?” He began rummaging in his pockets for the rolled-up painting of Meg in Nevassa that he’d been showing everyone since he’d arrived.

“I trust Jill’s judgement,” Ike replied to Haar, “don’t get me wrong. Sothe and Tauroneo too—they both fought at the head of the army, right? I’m sure they made the right decision.”

Haar seemed satisfied with this and returned to his food.

“It’s just this matter of the Black Knight…” Ike sighed, and his gaze fell on Mist, who looked even more solemn than him. Clearly she had the same reservations.

“Well, I’ve heard that the enemy of your enemy is your friend,” Jorge offered, “but that doesn’t mean the friend of your enemy has to be your enemy, right?” He was clearly trying to lighten the mood, but his attempt at humor fell flat.

“Actually,” Soren replied coldly, “it does.”

The next day, Titania and Skrimir started running the laguz troops through drills designed to oppose and disrupt traditional Begnion formations in open battle. Meanwhile, Ranulf and Lyre began selecting and organizing a legion of laguz spies. And once Heather made it clear she had a knack for getting into places she wasn’t support to (by listening in on one of their supposedly private meetings), she started supporting them in an official capacity. Soren adjusted her contract so she would be compensated for the added commitment.

Ike and Kyza were busy trying out new laguz-based siege techniques using the gates around Mugill as tests. Lethe was helping Lieutenant Mordo divide their troops evenly between Mugill and Flaguerre. And Mist and Mordecai were liaising with the Begnion civilians, promising they would be treated fairly if they cooperated. They were also allowing those who lived in the surrounding villages to return to their homes as long as they continued to provide food for the laguz troops.

Soren, meanwhile, was reviewing the incoming reports and deciding the best locations to station outposts and patrols so that the Gallian Army would be able to maintain control of the region and provide sufficient warning if Begnion launched a counterattack in the coming days.

Later that week, Soren, Ike, and Ranulf organized the first mission to keep Skrimir pacified. The lion led a small regiment of his soldiers to a winter food stockpile on a nobleman’s land to the northeast. The mission was successful, and his soldiers trotted back to Mugill with heavily laden carts. Skrimir was obviously glad for the exercise, and Ranulf was grateful Soren had found something for the prince to do.

The next week, Soren sent Skrimir on another mission, this time to take out a row of three outposts and allow the Gallian Army to expand their sphere of influence.

The week after that, they raided a senator’s summer mansion for gold and valuables, and for a few days, Ranulf had plenty of funds for supplies. This way, they could purchase directly from the Begnion citizens instead of continuing to steal from them. Soren saw no difference between stealing a cow versus buying a cow with stolen coins or trading a cow for a stolen jewel necklace. But he didn’t point out this fact to Ike and the others.

Eventually the Northern Army sent a vanguard of a thousand soldiers to reclaim Mugill, and the Gallian Army easily crushed them. Soren knew of the attack days before it happened, and he suggested Skrimir hide two battalions of soldiers in the surrounding hills while a force was deployed outside Mugill as bait. When the Begnion soldiers arrived, they were beset on all sides, and less than a hundred survived the slaughter.

Kyza interrogated these survivors, and Soren was able to gain additional insight into exactly where the senators had amassed their forces in the east. “This is it,” Soren announced to Ike and Ranulf. “We are ready to take Telgam.”

“Wait, that’s all you needed?” Ranulf asked in surprise.

Soren shook his head. “The intelligence from the captured soldiers was an added benefit, but the attack itself is what I needed. Our invasion of Telgam will now be seen as reactionary.”

“I’m not following,” Ike said, raising his hands. “How does that help us?”

“The Laguz Alliance has an advantage as long as Begnion thinks the Gallians are stupid and passive. If they think they are only motivated by instinct and anger, it will be harder for them to predict our moves and see through our stratagems.”

“So, we really were just biding our time…” Ike’s shoulders sank.

“Yes,” Soren admitted. “Doing so has made the Gallian Army look like it is waffling on the edge of war. The Northern Army’s counterattack has revealed that the senators honestly thought a force so meager could scare us into running back to Gallia.”

“You mean, you’ve been wasting our time to make us look weak?” Ranulf translated with wide eyes. “Skrimir is not going to like that!”

“Then don’t tell him,” Soren shot back. “And I was not wasting our time.” He folded his arms. “There was merely an added strategic advantage to waiting.”

“All that matters is that we’re moving on to Telgam now,” Ike moderated. “Skrimir is going to be happy to hear that at least.”

Ranulf sighed and nodded. “I’ll go give him the news.”

The Gallian Army marched and raided their way across western Telgam, only falling into skirmishes with local outposts left to guard the farmland. However, there was nothing these minor regiments could do, and giving up their lives didn’t stop the laguz from eating the people’s livestock. Ike insisted they leave enough for the civilians to survive until spring, but Soren was unsure whether that rule was being adhered to.

As they left the high elevation of Begnion’s northwestern region behind, the days grew warmer and the nights more tolerable. The sixteen mercenaries rode on horseback as often as they walked (except for Haar who preferred to fly whenever possible), and at night they slept in three tents alongside the convoy wagons at the center of the Gallians’ yurt camp.

Each day, Soren continued to gather intelligence, and he directed the battle-hungry soldiers to their next targets. There were two main locations they would have to seize to force the Northern Army out of Telgam: Fort Sevier in the west and Telgam City in the east.

Soren understood the senator’s decision to fortify these two locations: Fort Sevier was the largest and sturdiest in the region, and Telgam City was home of a vast castle and three large towers. The land and rolling hills were open around it, which were ideal for visibility. The Laguz Army wouldn’t be able to sneak up on them in the night.

However, Soren was prepared to meet these challenges. On his instruction, Skrimir and Ike sought entrance to Fort Sevier via the old sewers. By doing so, they completely bypassed the town surrounding the fort, the roads of which were well-stocked with soldiers waiting for an army that would never come (from the outside at least). Sevier’s commander surely didn’t expect the laguz to try anything but a straightforward assault, and neither the sewer outlets nor the fort’s grated tunnels were guarded.

Adapted ox bows and chains allowed the laguz to easily pull the grates away from the stone, and soon hundreds of beasts were pouring into the fort—all filthy and foul-smelling, Soren couldn’t help but notice (not that he was faring much better after the march through the sewers). They took the garrison by surprise, and when the battalion stationed in town realized what was happening, they surged back toward the fort. However, their own walls bottlenecked them at the gates, and here the laguz—more of whom were charging through the tunnels every minute—butchered them tirelessly.

After taking a couple days’ rest, the army resumed their march across Telgam, pilfering farms along the way to sustain the soldiers’ daily taste for fresh meat. Soren used this time to conjure an optimal strategy for taking Telgam City. He already knew the lay of the land from the last time the mercenaries had been here—three years ago at the Telgam Games. This experience did little to help him now, but his knowledge of Begnion’s climate did.

The wet season of the Begnion winter was behind them, and this region would not see rain again until spring. The grass trampled by the Gallians’ paws was brittle and dry, and the wind that blew over the low hills twisted in every direction.

“We can use the threat of fire to draw out the enemy,” he announced at the next war meeting. “The land is ripe for controlled burning, and I am certain the people of Telgam know this.” He traced the lines crisscrossing the map. “These roads and firebreaks bar the outer fields from those nearer the city, but you will notice there are none within a mile of the city limits.” He pressed his finger down on the location he had selected. “If we set up our camp here, we will be far out of range of the city’s towers and can dig a protective trench and plow our own firebreak.”

Ike was scowling like he hated this plan. “I think I can speak for everyone present when I say I won’t condone a plan that could kill thousands of civilians.”

“I’m with Ike,” Ranulf agreed.

“Burning the city from afar! That would be dishonorable,” Skrimir declared.

“Really, Soren,” Titania clicked her tongue, “There are some lengths I thought even you wouldn’t go to.”

Soren withstood the barrage of disapproval with his head held high. “You weren’t listening,” he reprimanded them. “I said the _threat_ of fire. The purpose of this plan is not to roast the city, it is to draw the troops out to protect it.” Everyone’s expressions softened at this realization. “When they see what we are doing, they will seek to stop us. Beast laguz are better suited to a field battle than fighting in the narrow streets, and since the troops stationed in Telgam outnumber us, we need that advantage.”

Everyone was silent for a moment. “I suppose that could work,” Titania consented.

“If they come to us, we will kill them easily!” Skrimir agreed.

“What if they call our bluff?” Ranulf asked, not giving in as easily. “Or what if they don’t even care? They could just evacuate the outer districts instead of attacking us.”

“Ranulf’s right,” Ike said with a shake of his head. “Then there’s always the chance they try to burn us before we can burn them.”

Soren was pleasantly surprised that Ranulf and Ike were demonstrating such sound logic. “You are both correct,” he said, “Those are valid possibilities, and for each I have a solution.” He raised one finger. “If the Begnion troops do not come to us by the time we have the firebreak complete, we burn the field after all. We use the smoke as cover, and we take that cover as deep into the city as we can without suffocating ourselves. We bypass the towers and concentrate our assault on the castle. The success of this attack will hinge on the speed of our conquest, and only a small battalion will be necessary. The main force can launch its own attack upwind of the fire, but we cannot count on that being enough of a diversion. If the insurgent battalion is not fast enough, we will be trapped by city troops, the castle garrison troops, and a fire of our own making at our backs.”

“Well, that sounds horrible,” Ike said glumly.

Soren raised a second finger. “Two: if Begnion sets fire to the field, we use the smoke as cover and do the same thing.”

“That sounds even worse!” Ike complained.

Soren set his hands down on his lap. “Telgam City will not be easily won. Some risk must be involved.”

“Let the humans know the fear of fire!” Skrimir said decidedly. “I do not fear it!”

Soren nodded once to accept his ridiculous bravado. “If all goes according to plan, no fire will be involved. To the commander of that city, this army is nothing but a rampaging mob of mindless animals. When they see us playing with fire, they will want to put an end to it. They will come in the night, and they will not expect a trap.”

“I believe you said something about trenches…” Titania recalled with a smile.

“We have a lot of work to do when we arrive,” Soren agreed. “We should plan everything ahead of time.” With that, the war council proceeded to finalize the details of his strategy, and no one questioned its soundness again. 

When Telgam City appeared before them, the Gallian Army set up camp as planned and, in perfect view, started digging. Although they detested it, the strongest laguz consented to being yoked by the ox bows again, and this time they pulled plows stolen from nearby farms. They worked hard, and Soren soon realized they were accomplishing their task too quickly and warned Ranulf to slow them down. After all, they needed time for the Begnion troops to stew in their fear and come to the desired decision.

The trench-digging troops, on the other hand, didn’t get a break, and additional units were busy sharpening spiked sticks while hidden within the yurts—safely out of view of the anxiously watching Begnion troops in their towers. Outside, they built the central cookfire into an ominously large bonfire (keeping it safely contained of course).

At dusk, Soren told Ranulf to call in the plowing troops, leaving the firebreak just barely unfinished. But the trench was complete, and over a thousand laguz were hunkered down inside. When it was dark enough, Ranulf gave the order for the wooden spikes to be planted in the freshly tilled loam. Now, they waited to see if Begnion would make its move.

“How long do you think we’ll have to wait?” Ike grumbled, peeking past the tent flap at the city lights above. He was armed and armored.

Soren sat cross-legged and yawned. “Probably all night,” he admitted. “If the commander knows beast laguz have superior night vision, they should launch their assault just before daybreak so their troops have the benefit of daylight after the initial ambush.” He shrugged meaningfully. “It is what I would do.”

Ike groaned. “This is going to be a long night.”

“Agreed,” Soren said simply. “But…” He withdrew Daniel and Jorge’s boardgame from beneath the blanket beside him. “I did borrow this from the merchant brothers, if you would like to play to pass the time.”

Ike’s eyes brightened, and his mouth turned into a nostalgic smile. “Just like the Mad King’s War…” he recalled. “We had a lot of sleepless nights back then too, didn’t we?”

“An inevitable consequence of war,” Soren agreed.

Ike moved away from the tent flap and sat across from him. “I’ll beat you this time,” he declared with a cunning grin.

Soren couldn’t help but smile in return. “If that were possible, you wouldn’t need a chief strategist. I would be out of the job.” He began setting up the pieces.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ike chuckled, “I’ll probably always need you.”

Soren didn’t respond, and despite the fact that he was sitting at the edge of battle, waiting for an ambush or a raging fire to reach him, he felt safe and happy. Even though he and Ike were sharing this tent with three other mercenaries, he could easily imagine they weren’t there. Right now, they were just going to play a game.

As Soren had predicated, Begnion cavalry troops came charging down the field just when the sky was starting to brighten. Many of their horses tripped or became impaled on the spikes, but in the darkness and confusion, the commander didn’t understand she’d been conned. She did not call a retreat.

Regiments of infantry and ranged units fanned out to pick off escapees, but the laguz weren’t fleeing. Still the Begnion commander didn’t seemed to realize she was charging into a trap. When the entire cavalry regiment had crossed the trench, Skrimir called at the top of his lungs: “Now! Attack now!”

Laguz launched out of the trench in their shifted forms, tearing into the infantrymen and archers who’d just arrived at the barrier. Meanwhile, the yurts exploded from the inside out, and cats, tigers, and lions burst to meet the cavalry head-on. Horses reared in terror, and some threw their riders.

Soren had been watching everything from the tent flap with Ike beside him, but now that Skrimir had given the order, he and the other mercenaries erupted from their own tents, laying waste to the confused Begnions.

The sky continued to brighten and pinken, and even before the sun had shown itself, the two armies were locked in a serious battle. Realizing their ambush had been turned against them, the Begnion commander called for her troops to regroup. Soren heard her voice and the trumpeter at her side relaying her orders, but even without interpreting them, he knew enough about Begnion field maneuvers to predict what she would do. She was trying to salvage her archer regiments and get them into a defensible position behind at least three rows of infantry while the cavalry worked the corners, refusing to allow any laguz to get around.

However, Titania knew these maneuvers as well, and she had been training the Gallian Army how to counteract them. Skrimir and Ranulf rallied their troops now: “Everyone to the right! Their right flank! Charge now!”

The galloping felines applied their full strength to taking out the cavalry on the right side. When the sun rose, it rose on a mess of kicking horses, crawling soldiers, scrambling cats, and bounding lions and tigers. Horses neighed pitifully where they fell, and the laguz limped on with broken limbs and concussions.

Although her troops still equaled the laguz in number, the Begnion commander was frantic now that her formation had been ruined. For a few minutes, she tried to reclaim it, urging her infantry to come around the side and for the cavalry on the opposite end to come around the back. However, the laguz troops had access to her archers now, and they were slaughtering them faster than they could fire.

“Retreat!” came the commander’s call and, and the signal was blown by the trumpeter beside her. But Skrimir wouldn’t let her go; the giant lion bounded through the enemy troops, apparently unconcerned by the possibility that he might be stabbed or shot. He had eyes only for this woman’s fancy helmet and prettily armored steed.

Soren watched them fight while using wind magic to fend off arrows. He and Ilyana were part of the reason the laguz had been able to foil the commander’s retreat attempt. However, now that they were firing at will instead of in coordinated volleys, it was much harder to stop them.

“ _Ah!_ ” Ilyana cried when an arrow found its mark in her shoulder. The force knocked her to the ground, where she pressed on the wound, gritting her teeth. A second later, another arrow found her foot and her entire body convulsed. “ _Ssss!_ ”

The laguz around them were being hit hard by the uneven yet unceasing rain of arrows. Soren kept chanting, but there was only so much he could do. Then, all at once, one arrow found his thigh, another his stomach, and another split his ear. Unable to stay standing, he fell to the ground beside Ilyana. With one hand he held his leg, with the other his side.

“Fall back, you two!” came Ike’s voice, and Soren turned to him. Picking up a fallen shield, Ike used it and the armor on the right side of his body to shelter them from the incoming arrows. “You’ve done enough!”

“Then you…have to…fall back too,” Soren argued despite the blood forcing its way up his esophagus. “Let the laguz handle this!”

Just then, an arrow pegged Ike in the back of his knee. He lurched violently but didn’t fall. “Alright,” he agreed. “Let’s move!”

Pushing through the pain, Soren rolled over and got himself up on his good leg. Hanging onto each other, all three limped away from the battle and only stopped when they were safe from Begnion’s archers. Here Mist found them. “There you are!” she scolded, “I lost track of you, Brother! You need to be more careful in battles like this.” She took some of Soren’s weight, and he fell into her. He was losing too much blood, and his vision was fading to gray.

“Hey, I didn’t go far,” Ike argued, settling himself down and trying to inspect the arrow.

Mist batted his hand away. “Don’t touch that; I’ll fix it in a second!”

Soren tried to ignore their affectionate bickering and keep track of the battle going on past Mist’s shoulder. But once she removed the arrow in his stomach, blood started flowing freely and he passed out.

When he woke up, he was lying on the bristly grass, and his hands and feet were numb with cold. Standing up, he saw that the battle had clearly moved on without him. Glancing at the position of the sun, he judged no more than an hour could have passed. Looking at the ground, he saw dead bodies in piles and injured bodies in neat rows. Those who’d already been healed were sleeping soundly: Shinon, Brom, Mia, and a few laguz. The rest of the injured laguz (of which there were far, far more) were writhing in pain or quietly clenching their fists and trying not to move. A few uninjured laguz were acting as guards, and Soren wondered if they would answer him if he asked about the current state of the battle.

Rather than risk being ignored, however, he decided to figure out the situation for himself. He heard fighting coming from the city, so he picked up his tome and trudged in that direction as swiftly as he could. When he arrived, he followed the trail of blood and bodies and only cast a spell whenever a fleeing soldier saw him and panicked.

Eventually he made his way to the castle, where it appeared Skrimir, Ike, and the others were wrapping up their siege and sending the surviving garrison troops running to the hills. Taking a moment to catch his breath, Soren leaned against the wall of a building opposite the castle. His throat was parched, and he was desperate for water. Mist may have healed him, but she couldn’t do anything to take away his lightheadedness or fatigue. While he recovered from the walk, he surveyed the damage.

It appeared the Gallian Army had had no problem taking the city after defeating the majority of the troops in the field. At least one of the towers had been seized, and the others would be vacated soon (if they hadn’t already). The castle was emptying now, and Soren had no doubt Ike was somewhere inside. Summoning the reserves of his strength, he pushed himself off of the wall and forced one foot in front of the other. He belonged at Ike’s side, so that was where he would go.

He eventually found him running down some stairs inside the castle, and when Ike caught sight of him in return, his eyes lit up. “Ah, there you are, Soren!” he said, skipping down the remaining steps. Titania, Nephenee, Boyd, and Mist were all behind him. “We’re just finishing with the north wing! Help us clear the dungeons, and we’ll be done!”

Seeing Ike’s face, Soren caught his friend’s unflagging energy like a contagion. “Lead the way,” he replied, and when Ike and the others started running again, he found he could suddenly run too.

Soren was feeling much better the next day, when the army’s leadership met to discuss their next objective. Scouts reported that the remaining forces in Telgam hold were moving east into Seliora, and Soren had no doubt this was where the survivors of yesterday’s battle were headed as well. The Laguz Alliance had won another important victory, but they couldn’t afford to take it easy or go slow now that they’d delved this deep into Begnion.

“Flaguerre, Mugill, and Telgam are ours, but this war has just started,” Ranulf began, echoing Soren’s thoughts. “The enemy’s main force is stationed around the Sienne. The real fight starts now.”

“Ah!” Skrimir barked appreciatively. “Now we fight the big battle! My claws itch for beorc flesh. Hey Ranulf, are there any strong enemies in the capital?”

“There will be plenty,” Ranulf answered, although his eyebrow twitched and Soren wondered if he was resisting the urge to scold Skrimir again. “But before we go, we must defeat the northern nobles. Their collective army is massive.”

Although he agreed with Ranulf’s assessment, Soren was not particularly worried about the Northern Army. “By now, I imagine the Begnion Central Army is heading our way,” he noted, “They’re going to be our real problem.”

“So, if we’re too slow, we get caught in the middle,” Titania translated (perhaps for Skrimir’s sake).

“I don’t like the sound of this…” Ike grabbed his chin and frowned at the map. Ranulf had been able to mark the enemy forces to the east with much more detail than the south. He’d merely estimated the location and strength of the Central Army from the last report they’d received from the bird tribes, which had been a week and a half ago. Needless to say, the map wasn’t very informative. “Soren, do you have a deployment plan worked out?”

Soren did, and he was about to answer when Ranulf cut him off: “Actually, why don’t you all just relax? You might not believe this, but _we_ have a plan this time!” Both he and Skrimir looked quite satisfied with themselves.

Ike looked genuinely excited, but Soren decided to reserve his judgment. He crossed his arms while Ike said: “Let’s hear it!”

“The Ribahn River separates Telgam from Seliora,” Ranulf began, pointing to the lengthy tributary on the map, “so crossing that is going to be our next objective. Our scouts report that the Northern Army has already taken up positions in the Sestohl Plains. They’re spread out pretty evenly along the western bank of the river. Skrimir and I plan to divide our army into three groups and attack here, here, and here.” He tapped three places along the river, all of which were contained within a large marshy region where the water should be easily fordable this time of year. “Our goal will be to force the troops in the middle to retreat across the river. Once that happens, the line should crumple,” Ranulf declared confidently. “The river troops will try to fall back to a more defensible position in northern Seliora, but we won’t let them get far.”

“Aren’t you forgetting the Central Army?” Soren asked pointedly. “If you step over that river, you will be facing two armies. The northern forces could even lead you into a trap while you pursue them.”

“I’m getting to that!” Ranulf replied excitedly. “We won’t have to worry about the Central Army for a couple weeks at least, because I’ve already given Tibarn and Naesala new instructions! Instead of attacking the Central Army or reuniting with us, they are going to harass their supply train!” He was clearly proud of his idea.

“I see.” Titania nodded slowly. “An army of that size would require a massive amount of supplies to be able to sustain itself. So the bird tribes will hit the Central Army’s supply unit and slow their advance.”

“Exactly.” Ranulf crossed his arms. “The empire fears the bird tribes. The Shipless Pirates, they’re called. They specialize in surprise attacks and have been raiding Begnion merchant ships for years.”

“After they hit the supply unit, the bird tribes will head north,” Ike spoke up. “We’ll meet up with them after we finish the nobles’ forces. Then, when the Central Army arrives, we’ll attack them together—Does that pretty much sum it up?”

Ranulf’s crossed arms turned suddenly pouty, and he was clearly disappointed he didn’t get to finish explaining the strategy. “Yeah, that’s it.”

In response, Ike turned to Soren. He was smirking, perhaps anticipating his acceptance of a halfway-decent Gallian plan. “I’m surprised,” Soren admitted dryly. “As laguz strategies go, it’s not bad at all. We might even win—provided everything goes as planned.”

“Everything _will_ go as planned!” Skrimir assured. “The plan is perfect! The attacking in three parts was my idea you know.” This he said directly to Soren, who could only grimace in reply. He refused to give the lion the praise he desired, even if it was oddly gratifying to know the stupid prince actually wanted his praise at all.


	5. CHAPTER 71: THE SESTOHL PLAINS

Despite the many laguz still nursing deep cuts, broken bones, bruised brains, and even missing eyes and ears, the Gallian Army marched out of Telgam City within the week. Mist and Rhys offered to heal anyone who would let them, but most laguz had never been touched by a magic staff before and refused. They insisted on relying on their race’s arcane healing properties, simply stitching wounds and setting bones in the meantime.

The army marched at a leisurely pace, leaving plenty of time for rest in the mornings and evenings. Since the spring floods were still a month or two away, Soren could think of no reason to rush. Neither the Ribahn River nor the Northern Army was going anywhere, and he himself had insisted on the importance of patience during this campaign. However, he was struggling to ignore the nagging question at the back of his mind: could Tibarn and Naesala really hold the Central Army back? They had a long way to march, and without a steady supply of food and fresh horses, they wouldn’t be able to reach the northlands any time soon. Even the slightest disruption from the bird tribes would be a considerable impediment. Ranulf’s plan should work—but then why did Soren not trust it?

“Maybe you just don’t like the fact that it was Ranulf’s idea instead of yours,” Titania teased when he finally gave voice to his trepidation. She glanced up from the papers she was reviewing.

“I would never jeopardize a good strategy for something so petty,” Soren shot back.

“If it is a good strategy, why are you whipping yourself into a tizzy?” she replied, opening her palm as if to gesture at his current mental state.

Soren just frowned and decided this would be the last time he ever consulted Titania over anything that could be misconstrued as emotional.

At his lack of response, she just sighed. “Go ahead and tell Ike about your bad feeling, then,” she gave in, turning back to her work. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I will do that,” Soren replied stiffly. Donning his cloak, he exited the tent without another word. Wandering the camp a moment, he easily located Ike near the merchant wagons, but he was disturbed to sense Aimee with him. The Greil Mercenaries had been trying to protect their commander from the insatiable woman for weeks, and someone would usually step in if Aimee managed to corner him. Now, however, they were alone.

“My hero plays hard to get! You’re only making me more interested,” Aimee was teasing. Soren hung back, occluded by one of the wagons.

“Will you let go of my hand?” Ike groaned. “Please?”

At this, Aimee just released a high-pitched chuckle. “Then tell me I’m beautiful!” she gasped. “Tell me I’m more beautiful than any woman in this camp!”

Soren wondering if Ike would want him to intervene or if he could even save him from her if he did.

“…And _then_ you’ll let go of my hand?” Ike asked, sounding tired.

“Of course,” Aimee replied gleefully. “I’ll even give you everything you want for free.” Soren found himself looking at their feet under the wagon. Aimee had just thrown herself at Ike, and her right foot was now wrapped around his left ankle. Soren was suddenly—violently—reminded of Roark.

“Oh, alright then,” Ike surrendered.

“No Ike!” Soren shouted, louder than intended. “Don’t say another word.” He was running before he even realized he’d moved his feet. 

“That voice,” Aimee pouted. “It’s-”

Soren came around the back of the wagon in time to see Aimee disentangle her arms and legs from Ike’s. But she still didn’t let go of his hand, and she may even have gripped it tighter—like a child with a toy she didn’t want to share.

“C’mon, Soren.” Ike didn’t seem surprised by his sudden appearance. “She’s going to give us everything! For _free_.”

“Nothing in life is free, Ike,” Soren countered, eyeing their intertwined fingers with disgust. “Suppose you said what she asked you to say, what then?”

Ike just shrugged, and Aimee rested her cheek against his arm with a villainous smile playing across her lips.

Soren resisted the urge to demand she release hm and instead continued with his explanation: “You’d hear it all over the camp. In nearby villages. Eventually, the entire country would be saying it: ‘Ike, the hero of the Mad King’s War, is in love with Aimee the shop girl.’ Rumors can quickly spin out of control.”

“Come off it,” Ike chuckled. “You’re exaggerating.”

Soren was exaggerating, but it was the only thing he could think of to try to separate them. He glared at Aimee, and to his surprise, her cruel expression disappeared.

With a slow blink, she seemed to give up. “Oooh, don’t be so sure!” she said, pulling her face away from Ike’s arm. Her voice was lighter now, as if she were merely playing a game. “With my network of merchants, I’ll spread the word to the four corners of Tellius! Within half a year, everyone will know. Then you will be mine forever, Ike! You’ll have no choice at all!” Putting her opposite hand on her hip, she released a haughty laugh.

“Man, you go right to the neck, don’t you?” Ike stared at her now as if she were some sort of wild creature holding his hand. “Alright, Soren. She’s all yours.” With that, he pulled his arm away, and Aimee let go this time. “Finish the negotiations for me?”

“Yes, sir,” Soren replied soberly. “What I do now, I do for the good of the company.”

Ike flashed a grateful grin before he sauntered off.

“No, Ike! Don’t go! Don’t do this to me!” Aimee reached for his shrinking back, but she didn’t grab or run after him. When he was gone, she plopped herself on the step of the wagon and crossed her legs. She didn’t look terribly heartbroken, but she didn’t look happy either.

“Well, now. Shall we get on with our business?” Soren stepped closer and wondered what in Tellius Ike had been buying to land himself in this situation.

Aimee tilted her chin away from him in a pout, but then she raised one hand and made a beckoning gesture.

Soren realized what it was she wanted, and after ascertaining that none of the mercenaries were within earshot and that the merchants were fast asleep, he gave it to her: “You’re looking more beautiful than ever, Miss Aimee,” he began, trying to make his voice convincing. He was not particularly good at giving compliments—and he didn’t actually care what Aimee looked like—but he would play along for Ike’s sake. “A true delight for the eyes.”

After struggling to keep a straight face, Aimee snorted in laughter and turned back to him. “Oooo, now you’re talking, you little lady-killer,” she teased.

“I know you won’t discount the goods to nothing, since it’s coming from me. So…how about you cut your prices down by three-quarters?” He threw out the number, not at all surprised if Aimee refused to honor the deal she’d only proposed because she’d been flirting.

“Oh…decisions, decisions,” she said, clearly wondering the same thing.

Since Soren was already debasing himself, he decided to go further: “You’re a diamond, and other beorc only glass beads, Miss Aimee.” This made Aimee grin widely, and Soren wasn’t quite sure whether she was laughing with him or at him. “I’ll buy more than enough to justify the discount,” he added.

“Half-price, maybe,” she replied, tapping her finger against the side of her mouth.

“A touch less than three-quarters, then.” Soren negotiated. He decided he would have to channel his inner Bastian if he was going to show he meant business: “What do you say, rose of Tellius? O goddess of desire?”

Aimee kicked up both her legs and clutched her stomach in laughter. “Alright, you win! Just this time, mind you.” Settling down, he took a wrapped package off of the step behind her. “Here, take this,” she said, and while it rested in her lap, she looped a cord off her neck and placed it on top. When Soren accepted the package, he saw that the cord’s pendant was a rectangular piece of silver imprinted with the seal of Aimee and Muston’s merchant company.

“A Silver Card?” Soren asked, honestly surprised she would give it to him. When the mercenaries had travelled with the Begnion caravan, not even Roark’s family had been willing to let them use their clan’s card. “I can buy anything for half-price at any shop?”

“That’s right,” Aimee sighed, perhaps surprising herself with the gift. “Remember what I said, though. It’s a limited-time deal. I’ll have to take it away soon.” In answer, Soren looped the cord around his own neck. “Oh, and while you own this card, you won’t be able to sell your weapons as raw material. Got that?”

“Understood, Miss Aimee,” he replied, then adding: “…Stay beautiful.” He didn’t need to keep stroking her ego at this point, but he did appreciate the gift. Taking a look at the package, he asked. “What is this anyway?”

“Oh, just a box of vulneraries, Ikey-poo was buying,” she said with a careless wave of her hand. “With that card, you now own me…a hundred gold.”

“I’ll go get the money,” Soren said. Moving the package to his hip, he turned to go, but then Aimee’s voice froze him.

“I’ll stop pursuing him, by the way,” she said. “So you don’t have to protect him from me anymore.”

Soren turned around, and he was surprised by her small, sad smile. “What changed your mind?” he asked suspiciously. Aimee was being too nice.

She shrugged one shoulder noncommittally and then drew her shawl tighter. “The look on your face,” she offered. “I didn’t realize he was taken; you should have said something sooner.”

Soren’s neck grew hot with embarrassment. “Ike isn’t ‘taken’ by anyone.” 

“Of course not.” Aimee waved her hand dismissively, as if to say she didn’t want to debate the subject. “Whatever the case, take good care of him.”

“He is my commander,” he replied carefully. “It is only natural that I look out for his best interest, including his reputation. What occurred tonight was nothing personal.”

“Right, right.” Aimee continued to wave him off. “I’m not offended at all. Now do be a dear and get my gold.” Soren left without another word, and when he returned later with the hundred gold pieces, he was relieved she made no further accusations.

When he returned to his tent, Ike and Titania were both there. “How’d it go?” Ike asked urgently.

In response, Soren gave him the box of vulneraries and lifted the Silver Card out of his shirt. “Aimee made us part of her family,” he replied casually. “We can claim a merchant’s fifty percent discount everywhere until the end of the campaign.”

Titania’s jaw dropped, and Ike clapped him on the back. “How in Ashera’s name did you manage that?”

“Some things are better left unsaid,” Soren replied simply.

Ike chuckled but didn’t push. “I owe you one.”

Sitting down, Soren started removing his boots for the night. Ike sat down too; he appeared to have been fixing a strap on his gauntlet, and he cut the last thread with his teeth now. Titania had been working on her report, but she didn’t return to it. Instead she spoke up: “I did tell Ike about your concerns.”

“Right,” Ike’s expression grew serious and he turned to him. “You think something bad is going to happen?”

Soren shook his head, because his baseless fears seemed silly now. “It’s nothing,” he said. “I was merely overthinking things.”

“Oh good.” Ike easily accepted that explanation, and the next moment he stretched and yawned. “I’m beat. Titania, are you still using that lantern?”

“Just finished,” she chirped. Folding her complete report, she doused the wick. “Sleep well,” she bid them as she exited the tent.

“Good night,” Ike yawned in reply. Turning onto his side, he folded his cape into a kind of pillow and set down his head. Soren watched his ribcage rise and fall incrementally with his breathing. As he lay down to sleep nearby, he resisted the urge to touch Ike’s back. He was not so far away that he couldn’t reach. But how would he explain himself if Ike felt it and turned over? Why did Soren want him to turn over? Why did he wish he could see Ike’s sleeping face, even though he had already seen it countless times before? After all this time, how could he still want to touch Ike so badly that his entire body became a pulsing ache?

As Soren considered these irrational thoughts, sleep eluded him, and the minutes stretched by. Eventually Oscar, Boyd, and Rolf came in from their shift at watch. The three brothers had been getting along remarkably well since Mugill, and they were chatting among themselves until they opened the tent flap to find Soren and Ike both seemingly asleep. Their conversation died instantly, and they tiptoed inside.

Weeks ago, Soren had heard the story of how the brothers had discovered Rolf’s mother in Mugill. Apparently this had led to some much-needed dialogue, which had, in turn, brought the siblings closer than ever. Soren did not particularly care about the intricacies of their family drama, but thinking about this triviality finally distracted Soren’s mind enough that he could fall asleep.

They reached the Ribahn River in a couple days, and as they approached, they divided into the three battalions. Ranulf had assigned the Greil Mercenaries to the northern battalion and put Ike in command. Skrimir was leading the central one, and Lieutenant Mordo the southern one. (Despite his overzealousness at Mugill, he had yet to lose command.) Ranulf and Kyza would be fighting with Skrimir, but they came to visit Ike before the charge to make sure preparations were complete.

“Ike! Are you in position?” Ranulf asked, transforming into his human shape when he arrived.

Ike clasped his arm in greeting. “Yeah. Ready when you are.”

“We’ll leave all the troops on the left to you beorc,” Ranulf teased with a grin, “Sound good?”

“Fine by me,” Ike said confidently. “We’ll teach these nobles a thing or two.”

Ranulf chuckled and shook his head. “Seriously though, these are good laguz I’ve put in under your command. I know you’ll lead them well.”

“Just give the order.”

Ranulf nodded. “You can go ahead now.” With that, he slithered back into his feline shape. “Good luck!” he called before he and Kyza loped southward.

Ike wasted no time turning to his troops. “Alright, you heard him!” he called, raising his sword. “Move out!”

Soren and the rest of the mercenaries were marching at the head of the battalion, and soon a rockier, wooded section of the Sestohl Plains appeared before them. The ground dipped low, and the river widened into an everglade. But on the dry land before the marsh grass began, rows of glittering, red-armored soldiers were waiting for them. There were also twenty-five dracoknights floating above the trees.

This was the first time Soren had seen any of Begnion’s new wyvern army, and he was surprised how few there were. Then again, this was just one small section of the Ribahn River. He supposed there were probably many more elsewhere, perhaps with the Central Army. That being said, flying units had an inherent advantage over the range-less beast laguz, so Soren would have expected Begnion to deploy every one if its dragons up here in the north.

“Haar, Soren, Ilyana, Shinon, Rolf,” Ike barked, and Soren decided he should be focusing on the dracoknights that were here rather than the ones that weren’t. “You five need to take out those wyverns before they can hassle the laguz forces. The rest of us will get you over there.”

“Yes, sir!” the five barked in response.

“Let’s go!” Ike called loud enough for everyone to hear. “CHARGE!”

The beasts transformed and sprinted to the front. Upon Ike’s orders, they hit the Begnion frontlines with an oblong wedge formation. This allowed the majority of their forces to stay out of range of Begnion’s spear-throwing regiment, and it didn’t reveal where the point of the wedge would strike until the last second. The crimson soldiers’ perfect rows and columns disintegrated, and soon there was fighting in every direction.

Soren, however, focused on getting closer to the swamp so he could engage the dracoknights. Ilyana and the others were right behind him, and Haar was already flying ahead, where his black wyvern shrieked a challenge to its red-scaled brethren.

“Here they come!” Nephenee called. She was currently fending off two swordsmen. She kept her round shield up, letting it pivot away their blows until she had them lined up the way she wanted. Then she leapt back a step and lunged forward. Her long spear slid straight through the first soldier’s ribs, right below his armor, and didn’t lose momentum until it also impaled the second soldier. Soren admired her handiwork, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Haar was leading five of the wyverns straight to them, and Rolf and Shinon were already firing arrows from the cover of a boulder. “*Spirits of lightning-*” Ilyana began chanting, but Soren held out a hand to stop her.

“Wait until they’re closer!” he commanded. “They may turn back if they know we have magic users.”

Ilyana nodded but kept her tome raised and her finger and thumb pressed against the page.

Haar was leading the wyverns on a merry chase, but neither Rolf or Shinon had been able to find their marks yet. These riders may have only had a couple years to learn their trade, but they commanded their flying steeds like masters. C _loser…_ Soren willed them, and soon Haar brought them in.

“Now!” Soren commanded, and he and Ilyana started chanting in unison: “*Spirits of lightning-*”

“*Spirits of lightning-*”

“*-follow my hand-*” Soren gestured sharply at the ones on Haar’s left.

“*-follow my hand-*” Ilyana raised her hand to the ones on his right.

“*-Fry their flesh!*”

“*-Fry their flesh!*”

With two ear-popping cracks, lightning dropped on the dracoknights. While the main bolts hit their intended targets, the ancillary branches leapt to the ones beside them, sending the wyverns spiraling in shock. Rolf and Shinon shot through the wings of the ones who tried to pull up before they crashed. 

Soren hadn’t stopped chanting to see if the first strike had been successful, and neither had Ilyana. They both completed second and third Elthunder spells before they stopped to catch their breath, and by then, the wyverns and their riders were nothing but smoking, twitching corpses lying on charred marsh grass.

Rolf and Shinon turned their arrows on a couple mages coming out of the trees, and Haar went off to attract more dracoknights. However, Soren doubted the dracoknights would be willing to fly where they’d just seen powerful thunder magic strike down their comrades. “We need to move to a different part of the field,” he said to Iyana. “Haar will find us.”

“That makes sense,” Ike called, jogging over. (He’d never gone far.) Sticking his thumb and finger into his mouth, he whistled to get the team’s attention and called: “This way!”

They fought their way closer to the trees, and all around him, Soren saw laguz and beorc slashing at one another. He avoided any blade or blow aimed his direction, and he countered with Wind or Fire as needed. The path they were taking was leading them into the lowlands, and Soren didn’t like the rocky outcropping rising on their right.

“Archers!” Heather called when their helmets and faces appeared above the rise. “Shit!”

A regiment of eighteen or so had raised their bows to the sky, and Soren knew that he, Ike, and the rest of the mercenaries in this gulley would find themselves at the receiving end of the volley.

He started chanting Tornado before he’d even made the decision to try. Instinct brought the devastating spell to his lips, despite the fact that he was too far away to hit the clifftop archers. But by the time he reached the end of the incantation and the archers released their bowstrings, Soren knew what he needed to do.

Rather than releasing the winds’ raw power, he held onto it—holding the air in place. He recalled his experiments suspending a knife or javelin while cheating in the Telgam Games. This was far harder, but he had to believe it was possible. And if it was possible, he could do it.

Whipping his own arm and shoulder as a guide for the spell, he willed the enormous gust to shoot the arrows in a high arc, throwing them up at the archers with twice as much force as they’d been released. _One arrow for each archer…find your mark_ , Soren thought, demanding that the winds obey him.

When he opened his eyes again, he couldn’t see the archers any more. They’d dropped out of view, which Soren hoped meant they were dead. His arms fell limply to his side, and he marveled at the fact that the spell hadn’t destroyed nor misaimed a single arrow.

“That’s a new trick,” Ike remarked in surprise, clapping Soren on the shoulder. “Thanks for the save!”

Just then, a single archer struggled to his feet atop the rise. “It’d be a better trick if he hadn’t missed one,” Shinon sneered, raising his bow. Even at this distance, his aim was perfect, and the soldier spun backward, dropping out of view like the rest.

“Let’s keep moving!” Ike called. “There are soldiers ahead!”

At his words, the soldiers who’d stayed back to avoid the volley now rushed forward. At the same time, Haar led six more dracoknights over the trees, and their speed shook the branches like a gale.

“We’re up again,” Ilyana said pleasantly, turning a page in her tome.

Soren shivered to rid himself of the fatigue brought on by the Tornado spell. Turning to his Elthunder spells, he prepared to strike the wyverns as soon as they came within range. In the meantime, Ike, Titania, Nephenee, Heather, Brom, and Mist were fending off the soldiers charging at them from the front. Soren trusted they would keep him safe.

The Begnion soldiers proved quite willing to retreat into the marsh, despite the fact that the wet terrain was just as bothersome to them as it was for the Gallians and mercenaries. Reinforcements trickled in from the north, but none came from the south (surely because Skrimir’s army was keeping them busy a few miles downriver). Soren wasn’t sure how much longer this battle would continue, considering the enemy troops were already falling back.

But he was certain defeating the local commander would only speed up the process, so when he deduced that one of the dracoknights was actually a captain relaying orders from above, he brought the man to Ike’s attention. “That’s the one you want!” he announced, pointing to where the wyvern’s armored belly was visible between the gaps in the canopy.

“Help me get him down to the ground, and we can end this!” Ike called back. Sheathing his sword, he ran in the direction the dragon captain was going. Soren wasted no time running with him, and Mia, Rolf, and Mist coalesced from the crowd to run alongside him. Either they heard what Soren had said, or they knew that if Ike was running somewhere with that look on his face, it was somewhere they wanted to be.

“I am Istvan, general of Lord Seliora’s royal army!” declared the captain when Ike shouted at him from the center of a clearing. Rolf’s arrows and Soren’s winds had barred him from leaving the break in the trees, but he seemed content to linger. He wyvern beat its wings in place, bringing him closer to the ground so he could answer Ike’s challenge. “You, leader of subhuman filth! State your name!”

“I’m Ike of the Greil Mercenaries,” came his response. This was quickly followed by the ring of his sword as he drew it from the scabbard on his back. 

“Greil Mercenaries?” Istvan replied. “Never heard of them! So you’re just a bunch of small-time bandits?” He spun his axe around his hand in frustration. “If you were subhumans, our reward would have been bigger! My lord won’t be pleased by the heads of bandits!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about our heads,” Ike laughed. “You have no chance to win this fight. Leave while you can.”

Now it was Istvan who laughed, and Soren realized why when he saw the remaining dracoknights flying into the clearing to support their captain. Rolf started firing arrows, and Soren switched to thunder magic. “What luck!” cried Istvan. “The enemy comes in _tiny_ numbers. Get them, comrades!” He cheered on his fellow wyvern-riders, two of whom descended on Mia and one on Mist. “We cannot let the other army take our reward! Crush the enemy and gain glory for Lord Seliora!” The captain dove on Ike with his axe held high and his wyvern’s fanged mouth outstretched.

Soren redirected his next Elthunder spell at Istvan, but he was too slow and Istvan reached Ike before he could stop him. Fortunately Ike was agile enough to throw himself out of the way before the fangs found his shoulder or the axe his head. While rolled back onto his feet, Soren covered him with quick Elwind and Elthunder spells, and only when Ike was clearly holding his own did Soren slow down. Now he could consider Istvan’s words.

It appeared Senator Seliora had promised bonuses to regiments that killed the most laguz. This wasn’t surprising and probably kept up morale among the troops stationed along the river. But what the captain had said about losing their kills to another army was disturbing. It was quite possible he was merely referring to the other battalions stationed along the Ribahn River, with whom he was competing to kill the most laguz. On the other hand, it was possible Istvan knew an additional army was on its way and wanted the troops under his command to kill as many Gallians as possible before it arrived to steal their glory.

As the sinking feeling in Soren’s gut grew stronger, his spells lost their touch, becoming weaker and poorly aimed. But this did not become a fatal mistake, because the dracoknights had all been defeated except for the captain. Istvan’s wyvern was dead, and he was now fighting Ike on foot. Fewer soldiers were entering the clearing now that Ike had the upper hand, and some cowards were running for their lives as if their captain were already dead. 

When Ike finally slew the man with a ferocious swipe at his leg and then an opposite swipe at his gut, Istvan fell into the mud, hugging his broken, bleeding body. “Wa-wait! This cannot be! Our… reward…” he muttered and shivered.

“The enemy general is down!” Ike called out, raising his hand as a signal to his own troops and the enemy alike. “Let the fleeing soldiers go. Everyone, fall back!”

With that, he started picking his way out of the trees, and Soren was right behind him. Ike’s orders were relayed in every direction, and soon the entire battalion was returning to the dry land on the west side of the river. They would hold this position until the other two battalions arrived; then the whole army would launch its pursuit.

Mist and Rhys healed the mercenaries and any laguz willing to accept their aid. Ike found a piece of high ground and stayed here, surveying the plains on both sides of the Ribahn. Soren stayed on the hill with him while Titania dispatched scouts to report on Begnion’s actions farther up river, but no more reinforcements were appearing, which was a good sign a full retreat had been called.

Eventually the scouts returned, saying Begnion’s troops were all leaving the river, falling back to the northeast, as expected. Not long after this, the rest of the Gallian Army appeared to the south, and soon Skrimir and Ranulf were joining Soren, Ike, and Titania on the hill.

“Hey, you’re done too?” Ranulf asked, glancing at the recovering troops spread out around them. “That was fast.”

“Yeah, it was easy work,” Ike replied with a shrug (even though Soren knew the battle hadn’t been that easy). “They retreated pretty quickly,” he concluded, and with that Soren did agree.

“Their soldiers were well-equipped and well-trained,” he added, “but their commanders were terrible.”

“That’s lucky for us, I suppose.” Ranulf grinned with his hands on his hips. He looked tired but uninjured. “Things seem to be working out pretty well so far. Unless they bring in a real commander, it’s only a matter of time before they wave the white flag.”

Just then, Soren noticed a cat racing toward them from the south. The army divided, making way so the scout wouldn’t have to slow down.

“We should press our ad-” Ike was saying, when he too noticed the incoming laguz. Everyone fell silent.

The cat transformed and fell to one knee as soon as he reached Skrimir and Ranulf. His chest was heaving as if he’d just run a long way. “E-enemies-” he gasped, “Enemies to the south! It’s the Central Army!”

“What!” Ranulf demanded, turning his nose to the wind as if that could confirm the scout’s claim. Ike glared toward the southeast, and Titania fumbled for the collapsed spyglass on her belt. Soren followed Ike’s gaze and squinted. Although it was difficult to distinguish at this distance, he saw a dark mass that he no longer believed to be the shadow of a cloud.

“Tibarn failed in stalling them…” Ike observed in a strained voice. “Does that mean he’s…dead?” Soren realized he was more worried about his hawk friends’ safety than the predicament that now faced the Gallian Army.

“Doubtful,” he replied. “I don’t think there was even a battle. The Central Army arrived too quickly.” This meant the bird tribes had either betrayed the Laguz Alliance or they’d been forced to retreat due to overwhelming odds. If the latter were the case, however, they should have sent a messenger days ago. This indicated that the former was more likely, but Soren did not voice these misgivings aloud.

Ranulf growled through gritted teeth. “We only know one thing for sure—the enemy now has the advantage.”

Titania nodded solemnly and handed the spyglass to Ike. “There are still enemies to the north,” she said, gesturing to where the river troops had retreated. “This is quickly turning into our worst-case scenario.”

“Skrimir, we must retreat,” Ranulf declared, turning to him. “We’re in serious trouble here.”

“Show my back to beorc?” Skrimir scoffed. “Never! We will fight on like the Gallians we are!”

“Skrimir, listen to me!” Ranulf hissed. “We must retreat. This is the Central Army we’re talking about!” He was no longer using the tone of a nagging parent. His patience with Skrimir had apparently met its end.

“Ah, finally!” Skrimir cracked his knuckles. “ _Finally_ , we get to fight the Begnion Central Army! I have been waiting for this!”

Silence stretched between them, and Skrimir and Ranulf glared at each other in a battle of wills. Skrimir was smiling as he glared; Ranulf was not. Finally, Ranulf took a deep breath. “I can see you won’t change your mind, Skrimir,” he said quietly. He glanced at the troops below, many of whom were looking up at the hill, awaiting orders. “Alright…if it has come to this…” Reaching out an arm, he gently pushed Ike back. Then he transformed.

“Are you joking?” Skrimir laughed, but there was now a touch of uncertainty in his voice. “You can’t beat me, Ranulf. You know that.”

Ike stepped farther back, taking Soren with him. Titania backed up on the other side, and her face was clearly distressed. Kyza turned and gestured that Lethe, Lyre, and the rest of the laguz nearby should also stay back. Soren could hardly believe Skrimir had pushed Ranulf to mutiny, and he was intrigued to see what would happen next. Part of him wanted Ranulf to succeed, because that would mean the army wouldn’t march across the Ribahn and be crushed. But losing Skrimir’s leadership could lead to infighting and confusion. The entire army could fall apart.

“I can’t let you or our men die in vain,” Ranulf said, arching his back and digging his claws into the ground. “It’s my job to keep you from doing anything that stupid. If I have to knock you out to keep you out of this battle, then that’s what I’ll do.”

“Fine. Try.” Skrimir transformed as well, and an instant later, an enormous red lion was roaring into Ranulf’s face. The sound reverberated over the army, and the troops fell into stillness and silence.

“Ike! Stop them!” Titania begged, her voice almost lost in the collapsing roar.

“No,” Ike decided. “They need to do this.”

An instant later, Ranulf lunged left and then quickly right, aiming for Skrimir’s ear. Skrimir reared, pulling his head out of reach. Ranulf scrabbled against his neck instead, trying to find his jugular through his thick mane. But Skrimir landed and rolled, squishing Ranulf into the ground before getting back to his feet.

Ranulf lunged again, this time scratching Skrimir’s face, perhaps trying to blind him. He batted left and right, but then Skrimir’s jaw found Ranulf’s foreleg, driving him into the ground. Ranulf yelped pitifully, but when Skrimir let go, he wasted no time diving back in.

He bit and slashed at Skrimir’s legs, forcing him to back up in a circle. Skrimir was bigger and stronger, but Ranulf was faster. He actually managed to sink his teeth into one of the tendons in Skrimir’s hindleg, causing the lion to bellow angrily. Twisting around, he caught one of Ranulf’s legs in return and whipped him around in front.

Blood spattered, but Skrimir did not fall. Adjusting his jaws around the back of Ranulf’s neck, he started shaking him and hitting his head and body against the ground repeatedly. Ranulf tried to break away, but his paws couldn’t reach Skrimir’s face or chest. When his struggling slowed and weakened, Skrimir finally threw him.

Shaking, the cat tried to get to his feet, but Skrimir wasn’t holding back any more; he bounded forward. Despite the injury to his hindleg, he closed the distance between them in an instant and raised both his front paws to pounce down on Ranulf’s side.

Something cracked, and Ranulf collapsed. Instead of trying to rise again, he reverted his form. He didn’t move, but Soren was fairly confident he was unconscious rather than dead.

“Ranulf!” Ike shouted, and Soren seized his arm to stop him from rushing forward. He wasn’t convinced Skrimir was safe to approach right now.

“Do not worry about him,” the lion growled, not taking his eyes off Ranulf’s unmoving body. “I might have broken some bones, but he will heal quickly.” Taking a long breath, Skrimir turned back into his human form. Only then did Soren let go of Ike’s arm, suddenly feeling embarrassed by his protectiveness.

“My soldiers!” Skrimir bellowed, limping stiffly to the crest of the hill. “We are leaving! Head back to basecamp!” The army cheered obediently, and Skrimir turned around. Now he walked to Ranulf’s body and took it in his arms.

Ike winced sympathetically, although the lion was being quite gentle. “General Skrimir…” he began, but he didn’t seem to know what to say.

“We will return and regroup,” Skrimir sighed, adjusting Ranulf’s weigh. “It pains me, but we must. Damn it, Ranulf… He…got my leg.” Soren eyed the blood seeping down Skrimir’s pantleg into his boot. It did look quite painful.

“But you’re still willing to carry him?” Ike asked in disbelief.

“If he does not rest and heal, all his little chores fall on me. I can’t have that.” Without another word, Skrimir began descending the hill.

The army moved out immediately, and they didn’t stop until they reached the place where they’d made camp last night. Soren was worried the Central Army might pursue them, but the next morning, scouts reported that they’d joined with the Northern Army and were now making a semi-permanent camp on the Seliora-side of the Sestohl Plains.

The Gallian Army was stuck now on the west side of the Ribahn River. They were gridlocked, and for the next few days, each side built up and dug fortifications. The Ribahn River was the proverbial line in the sand, and whichever army crossed it first would be at a disadvantage. Only scouts and spies crossed the river now. Sometimes they died for the intelligence they gathered, but the information was invaluable nonetheless.

On the first day, Soren discovered General Zelgius was the leader of the Central Army, and on the second, scouts reported he’d taken command of the northern troops as well. A couple days later, Soren learned that Lord Seliora, Duke Gaddos, and a spattering of other nobles were holed up in a camp behind the army. Begnion was confident, and they had every right to be; all they had to do was sit there and wait for the laguz to tuck their tails between their legs and return to Gallia.

Whether the Central Army would pursue them in their retreat remained to be seen, but either way there was nothing Soren could do to turn this to their advantage. The Gallian Army was vastly outnumbered, and there was still no word from the bird tribes. He wondered if he should have foreseen this failure and somehow stopped it from happening.


	6. CHAPTER 72: MANEUVERS

For five days, nothing changed, but Soren knew the Central Army could begin mobilizing and march across the Ribahn at any time now. There was no real reason not to, and surely the senators were tired of waiting for the Gallians to give up and leave. Soren had trouble sleeping, so he woke early and occupied his mind planning different routes and contingencies for retreat. It was just after dawn when Titania burst into the tent.

“King Tibarn is here!” she announced. Boyd and Oscar both jackknifed awake, and Rolf turned over, moaning something about sleeping a little longer. “The Hawk Armada is coming!”

Soren pushed out of the tent, and the others were right behind him (even Rolf, who awoke fully once he realized what had been said). Sure enough, a large flock of birds could be seen over the southern horizon. Knowing these birds were the size of people, Soren deduced they were still far away. However, at least one Phoenician had already arrived—Tibarn was sitting by a campfire, tearing into a rack of lamb like a starving man. Between bites he guzzled water and wiped his face. His clothes, chest, and arms were covered in dried blood. It was brittle, brown, and flaking—several days old at least. That being said, he looked more tired than injured. There were bags under his eyes, and his wings hung lower that Soren had never seen them. The tips draped on the ground, where everyone avoided stepping on them.

When he was done eating, Ranulf escorted Tibarn to one of the mercenaries’ tents. He’d still said nothing, and it seemed neither Ranulf nor Ike were going to press him. When he walked, the Hawk King’s shoulders sank as low as his wings.

“Everyone should stay away from that tent for a while,” Ike ordered. “Give him some space.” Soren was annoying, wanting to know what had happened, but he supposed answers would be more accessible if Tibarn was actually fit to give them. “How is he?” Ike asked when Ranulf emerged.

“He’s resting,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Ike, did you see? Even his wings were…”

“Yeah. They were covered in blood,” Ike sighed. “But he’s not hurt, so it must be someone else’s.”

“I have this awful feeling...” Ranulf crouched by the fire and held his head. “A feeling that something terrible has happened. But I really hope I’m wrong.”

Ike sat and kicked out a leg, staring pensively into the flames as if he agreed with Ranulf’s feeling. But Soren remained standing nearby. He had his eyes on the brightening sky, hoping another hawk might arrive shortly and be able to tell them what Tibarn was not.

Before long, a pair of white wings and two pairs of brown wings appeared above the camp. After just a half-circle to get their bearings, the trio dropped out of the sky. They all looked exhausted.

“Ike! Ranulf!” Reyson stumbled toward them.

Ranulf leapt to his feet and caught the heron’s thin arms. “Reyson! You’re here too?”

“Your Highness! Please wait!” Janaff called, his chest heaving. He lurched forward, but Reyson ripped himself out of Ranulf’s hands and avoided him both.

“I have to check on him,” he declared urgently. “I’m worried about Tibarn. Where is he?”

Ranulf jerked his thumb at the tent, but Ulki seized Reyson’s shoulders before he could run off. “We’re worried too,” he said in a hiss, “but, Reyson, you must let him be alone for a while.”

“But I’m the only one who knows what he’s going through!” Reyson growled back, still struggled to escape Ulki’s grip.

“Then you remember how much time you needed back then,” was the hawk’s reply.

After struggling a moment, Reyson seemed to lose the last of his energy. Ulki did too, and both let their arms fall limp.

“Janaff, Ulki…” Ike was clearly assessing them from head to toe. Both looked about as bad as Tibarn. “What’s going on? What happened to you out there?”

Janaff shook his head. “Where can we talk?”

Ranulf cleared out one of the yurts, and he, Ike, Reyson, Janaff, and Ulki went inside. Soren and Titania would have come too, but Ike stopped them. “Titania, go find Skrimir and tell him what’s happened. Then see about getting the incoming hawks settled. Soren, stay with Tibarn and let us know if he wakes up.”

Soren thought his skills were better suited for a debriefing than babysitting an overgrown pigeon, but he didn’t argue. He brought a stool and a blanket to the entrance of Tibarn’s tent, and there he stayed while counting the hawk laguz flying into camp. He estimated seventeen hundred and was disconcerted when they stopped arriving, because the Phoenician contribution to the Laguz Alliance was supposed to be twenty-five hundred. They were all exhausted, and most crashed (or at least dropped less-than-elegantly) to the ground. Some spread their wings and just fell asleep there on the grass.

Eventually, Tibarn awoke and emerged. He didn’t look much better after his nap, but he drew his hand over his face and sighed. Seeing Soren outside, he asked simply, “Where’s your commander?”

Soren pointed to the yurt, and Tibarn marched off. He considered going with him but stayed by the tent, watching the sky for late arrivals. He couldn’t help but notice Naesala and the Kilvan Armada were nowhere to be seen.

Eventually Ike, Tibarn, and the others emerged. Reyson was firmly attached to Tibarn’s side now, and he and the hawks went to rejoin the other ragged Phoenician soldiers. Titania, Skrimir, and Ranulf went their separate ways, and Ike came over to Soren. “You know Tibarn’s not in there anymore?” he asked, but his attempt at a lighthearted tone fell flat. Something was bothering him.

“I did notice that,” Soren replied, not getting up.

Ike sat beside him, and when he spoke, his voice was quiet. “Kilvas betrayed us again.”

“Again?” Soren repeated.

Ike shook his head. “I mean they betrayed their fellow laguz again, just like the Mad King’s War. I thought Naesala had changed. I mean, we fought together to defeat Ashnard…”

“What did Kilvas do?”

“They told Begnion about our plan to attack the convoy, and they fed the hawks false reports. Instead of raiding the supply train, they accidentally attacked the Central Army itself. The ravens got out of there fast, but the hawks stayed and fought. Then, when Tibarn engaged Zelgius, he told him to go back to Phoenicis...”

“And they retreated?” he asked in surprise. Tibarn was no fool.

Ike nodded.

“Merely because he told them to?”

Leaning his arm against his knee, Ike brought his hand to his face and pressed the space between his eyes, as if alleviate some pressure. “I guess Zelgius was convincing.”

“And did they fly all the way to Phoenicis?”

“Yes.” Moving his hand to his forehead, he rested it there. When he spoke, his voice was hollow. “But Begnion’s dracoknights had already been there… They targeted the capital city. From what Reyson and the others were saying… Oh, it’s bad, Soren.”

He suspected he knew what Ike was implying. “Another massacre?”

“…The city guard was entirely wiped out in the battle, but the dracoknights didn’t just attack the soldiers. They were there to kill the people…” Ike closed his eyes, and when they opened again, Soren saw tears gathering. “Tibarn says some who managed to hide or escape survived, but most… Most weren’t that lucky. A lot of innocent people died. Even the elderly, the sick, even children... They weren’t soldiers; they were just people… Thousands of innocent people… Begnion slaughtered them.”

Soren took a moment to collect his thoughts. Things were worse than he’d imagined. Retreat wouldn’t be an option now. Every laguz would be out for revenge. Soren tried to think of a way out of this—a strategy or trick that would bloody Begnion’s nose. He tried to see an advantage he hadn’t noticed yet. But his brain was no longer entirely under his control, and distracting images flashed through his mind’s eye.

He saw the men, women, and children Greil had killed. He saw their bodies, how they’d fallen, how they’d been cut open from behind. He remembered the blue haze encasing Greil and the way he’d slumped in grief when that haze had ebbed—Greil, Elena, and a litter of bodies large and small. This was the strife born of chaos. This was the chaos born of war.

“Is the medallion safe?” Soren asked, and Ike seemed surprised by the question.

“Yeah, it’s in Gallia. Leanne and Rafiel… You know that. Why—do you think Begnion was looking for it?”

Soren shook his head. “No, I believe Begnion did what it did purely to force the Phoenicians to drop out of this war. The idiots did not see that their actions would only galvanize them.”

“We can’t retreat now,” Ike agreed. “Not that I want to… I want Begnion to pay for this too.”

“I will think of something,” Soren promised. 

He spent the rest of the morning trying to think of an appropriate strategy. Zelgius would soon know the hawks had returned, if he didn’t already. And although it was to their slight disadvantage to play the part of attacker, it would be a great boon to them to fight while the entire armada was fatigued. He would attack tomorrow at the latest, and Soren needed a plan.

At first, he considered ways to make use of the land and river. He thought about how to best deploy the troops and how far to stretch them north and south. He wondered what supplies they might be able to find in the nearby villages. If they could get enough oil, they could set sections of the river on fire, but Soren doubted it would significantly break up or slow down the advancing army. No, he needed a different plan.

It was noon when Soren realized the Laguz Alliance would have to strike first. They would die if they only defended. Now he began thinking of the best way to cross the river and approach the Central Army’s defensive line. He divided the troops and simulated different maneuvers in the battleground of his mind. In front of him he had the scouts’ most recent reports about the makeup of Zelgius’s army, and he was familiar with traditional Begnion tactics. But Zelgius was a formidable opponent, and he was sure to have his own contingencies.

Trying to think of something Zelgius might not predict, Soren contemplated something he’d recently learned about black cat and lion laguz. Apparently they had inherent stealth abilities, in addition to their dark coats and silent paws. Many could hide themselves even from other laguz using some sort of telesthesic influence. This ability was also common among ravens and black dragons, but beorc had no reason to know of such things.

Soren had been capitalizing on these traits for reconnaissance, but if Ranulf could muster a regiment of covert cats, they could go north, cross Ribahn far from the two armies, and then come back around to attack the Central Army in the last third of their ranks, where commanders were usually positioned. Sewing confusion here could disrupt the chain of command and potentially counter whatever plans Zelgius may try to put in place. Taking out a few captains would be even better, and engaging Zelgius directly could buy them time for some other endeavor.

Suddenly thinking of the hawks, Soren realized that having the winged laguz transport their feline brethren would save a lot of time. If they attacked tonight, the mist coming off the river would support a flight-based stealth mission. Dracoknight scouts flying above the mist would be able to sound the alarm, but the hawks outnumbered Zelgius’s wyverns. It shouldn’t be a problem to take out the scouts as long as the hawks worked in pairs, with one above and one below the fog bank.

It was a solid plan, but it wasn’t enough. Even if Ranulf distracted Zelgius himself, the general would do whatever it took to maintain control of his troops. Not to mention the fact that the size of the Begnion army still overwhelmed the laguz. The arrival of the Phoenician Armada gave the Laguz Alliance a fighting chance, but they were still outnumbered such that this battle could not be won by simply outfighting their enemies. Soren needed to outsmart them too.

Looking at his reports again, Soren considered the supply stores nestled in the palisade-enclosed camp behind the army. He considered the possibility that the hawks could do what they intended before—simply attack the supplies and cripple the Central Army that way. It would certainly slow Zelgius’s pursuit if the Laguz Alliance was forced to retreat after all.

Soren shook his head to rid himself of the thought. Retreat was not an option. Figuring out how to make retreat easier what not the best use of his time right now. Thinking of the supply camp again, he now considered the noblemen boarded there. Killing the senators would certainly make the laguz feel better, and maybe they would be satisfied with that and be willing to retreat.

Soren tossed the idea aside as soon as he thought of it. Killing a single noble—Sainted or otherwise—would be a grave mistake. There would be no chance for a peace treaty when all of this was over, and even worse, Begnion would probably raze the forests of Gallia to the ground in retaliation.

Taking a senator hostage might work, but Soren wasn’t convinced Zelgius would retreat just to spare the life of a stuffed-shirt. Of course, he would do it if the other senators commanded him to, but it was too likely the senators might seek to benefit from their comrade’s demise and not actually order him to do it. At the very least, Soren couldn’t count on them putting themselves in danger just to save a fellow peer of the realm.

But Soren was intrigued by this idea of using the noblemen. They were vulnerable—a weak link in Begnion’s defense—while at the same time they held power over the entire army and even Zelgius himself. That was when it hit him: all he needed was their fear.

It was midafternoon by the time Soren told Ike his plan. He hoped the fact that Begnion hadn’t attacked yet meant they were waiting until tomorrow; that would give the Laguz Alliance a chance to put his plan into action tonight. Ike relayed the gist of the strategy to Ranulf, who wasted no time calling a war council.

When Soren arrived, he found Ike, Ranulf, Skrimir, Tibarn, Reyson, and Titania sitting on the floor around a large map. But no one was speaking or pointing at it; they were all staring at him. Still they said nothing, and Soren realized they were waiting for him to start. 

“Our goal is to cross the Ribahn,” he began, deciding to throw himself straight into it, “The core of our forces will ford the river and attack the Central Army head-on.” He pointed at the best places to cross. “Ranulf, you’ll need to form a small unit of your best warriors and lead them behind enemy lines, undetected.” He pointed to a section near the back left of the enemy troops. “Can you do it?”

“No sweat,” Ranulf agreed, sounding suspiciously confident. “We’ll do some officer hunting and keep the leaders’ attention on us.”

“Good.” Soren nodded curtly. “But a distraction alone will not get us across the river. They have the terrain and Zelgius in their favor.”

“Bah! Use fewer words, tiny beorc!” Skrimir grumbled, crossing his arms. “Tell us what we must do! Some of us have a battle to fight!”

“Don’t interrupt me again, Skrimir,” Soren snapped. “All these words may be the only thing that can possibly win this battle.” He was surprised at how chastised Skrimir suddenly looked, but he didn’t dwell on it. “As I was saying, while Ranulf and his men sow confusion in the rear ranks, a group of hawk laguz will carry the Greil Mercenaries south, around the battlefield. We’ll cross the river and make our way to the supply train, which also serves as the senators’ camp.” He pointed behind the enemy troops.

“Ahhh, I see what you’re doing,” Tibarn noted, rubbing his jaw. “You’re going to involve the senators and have them start messing things up.”

“Precisely,” Soren agreed. “Zelgius is the military commander, but the senators have authority over him. If attacked, they will panic and request aid. He will be forced to return and rescue them. Zelgius is a soldier through and through; he will not disobey an order, no matter how foolish it might be. Once he leaves, their frontline will crumble. That’s when you advance. Tibarn and Skrimir will lead the charge. That is all.” He paused, and in the silence, no one said anything. “Is everyone clear on what they have to do?”

“ _Hmph,_ ” Skrimir replied, “I still dislike beorc tactics. I’d rather face my enemy and give him my name before I snap his neck in my jaws. But in order to defeat cowards, we must use the weapons of cowards. Let’s go.”

“My men are not so tired that they will not give Begnion a good fight,” Tibarn said firmly, “and they will consent to carrying the two teams as well. I support this plan.”

“I will fight beside Tibarn,” Reyson vowed, crossing his heart in a salute.

“You have the Greil Mercenaries,” Ike said next, “you know that.”

Soren moved his gaze over the grim faces staring at him and nodded. “We attack tonight. In the meantime, let’s discuss the details of the charge…”

When the meeting was over, everyone went their separate ways to make preparations. They would have to spend the rest of the evening getting the army ready, and in the early hours of the morning, when the mist was at its densest—that was when the beasts would march and the hawks would whisk their charges through the night.

Ike was jumpier than Soren had ever seen him in the minutes before takeoff. His left eye was twitching, and he kept crossing and uncrossing his arms. “You’ve done this before,” Soren reminded.

“Yeah, and I remember. That’s the problem.”

“The fog is already thick,” Soren observed. “If it makes you feel any better, you probably won’t see the ground.”

Ike shook his head. “No, that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“Here comes Haar. That’s everyone,” Soren said, changing the subject, “You should give the order.”

“Now look who’s giving orders,” Ike grumbled under his breath.

“What?”

Ike threw up his hands. “Okay, let’s go!” He marched over to where everyone was gathered and told them to get into position. A minute later, sixteen hawks were swooping down, picking up each of them under the arms and sailing into the night.

Soren clenched his shoulders and toes when it was his turn. He may not have shared Ike’s fear of heights, but that didn’t mean he liked it. He was forced to trust the random Phoenician soldier assigned to him, an unknown person who could easily drop him either on purpose or on accident. He told himself the drop would probably kill him before he hit the ground, or at least knock him out so he wouldn’t feel it. But these were hardly mollifying thoughts.

When the flight was over, the hawks gently lowered the mercenaries to the ground just beyond the supply camp. The battle had already begun, but here it was quiet. Soren could barely hear the sound of fighting in the distance, which was heavily muffled by the fog.

Ike bounced on the balls of his feet when he finally touched ground. His anxiety about flying was instantly relieved, and he looked ready for a fight. While the hawks circled around to the rendezvous point, the Greil Mercenaries moved toward the closest camp entrance. The palisade walls were high and thick, but the gate was nothing special. Only a few soldiers were on guard outside, and defeating them signaled to the entire camp that they were under attack. A moment later, Titania broke down the gate with a few swings of her poleaxe.

“We’re in,” Ike announced when the door swung open. But he, Soren, and the rest of the mercenaries quickly got out of the way as a volley of arrows flew by. Everyone pressed themselves against the wall so they’d be safe from any arrows coming over the top as well. “Soren, let’s go over the plan one more time,” Ike said, ignoring the salvo.

“Our objective is to destroy the enemy supplies,” Soren answered, loud enough for all the mercenaries to hear. “The senators store their food and personal effects in crates. If we burn those crates, the senators will likely pull their troops back to save their own hides.”

“So, while the laguz distract the enemy, we storm inside, and burn all the supplies,” Ike translated. He stuck his hand in front of the open gate but pulled it back to avoid the answering volley of arrows.

“Exactly,” Soren confirmed.

“We can also set their horses loose,” proposed Titania. “That should add to the confusion.”

“Agreed. But try not to hurt the senators themselves,” Soren warned (not for the first time). “Harming them might cause us trouble later on, especially once the fighting is over.”

“Aright!” Ike drew his sword. “We’ve got to finish before the fog burns off. Let’s get this done. ATTACK!” He swung himself into the entrance at the same time Gatrie came around Titania’s side. He had his shield raised, and Ike charged behind him with his head tucked down. Soren was right behind him, already chanting Elwind, and Shinon came next, already loosing arrows over their heads.

Soren controlled the spell so it split around Ike and Gatrie, tearing into the archers before them. Gatrie didn’t stop charging until he was tripping over the legs of dead soldiers, and here the mercenaries tumbled into a crossroads. Ike darted out from behind Gatrie, slashing three surprised halberdiers in quick succession. Soren and Shinon slipped to the side to let Titania and Mia through, and they supported him. Meanwhile, Haar swept overhead, already dropping fire on other parts of the camp.

Once the crossroads was clear, the mercenaries split into three teams and spread out. They would burn as they went, but they had to be careful not to trap themselves or their comrades. The plan was to exit the camp through the entrance at the opposite end and rendezvous with the hawks. But before that, they needed to survive the senators’ guards and the flames of their own making.

Needless to say, things quickly devolved into chaos. Screaming horses with burning manes escaped their enclosures, whether or not the mercenaries first pulled open the gates. One nearly knocked Soren to the ground because he hadn’t seen it coming through the smoke and mist. Visibility was poor, and Soren strained his Branded sense to track the familiar mercenaries in a sea of confusion.

However, this meant he wasn’t as focused on his immediate surroundings as he should have been, and he accidentally ran into a dead-end. Brom and Rolf were with him, but everyone else felt far away. Shaking his head, Soren was about to turn back, when Rolf cried, “There’s a way through here!”

Pulling down a couple crates, he revealed that the palisade walls didn’t connect and a senator’s tent was erected in the clearing beyond. But no sooner had he done this than a whip of inky blackness suddenly shot out and sent Rolf falling on his back in the dirt.

“Y’alright, boyo?” Brom asked, lifting his head. Rolf’s face and neck were marked with black lines where the skin looked dead, as if eaten by frostbite in an instant. Although the injury didn’t look life-threatening, his eyes were clamped tightly shut as if in pain. Before Soren’s eyes, his skin beaded with sweat and he started to hyperventilate. “The kid’s going into shock!” Brom shouted in alarm.

Rolf may have been young, but he was a seasoned mercenary. There weren’t many injuries his body wasn’t already used to—but this was one of them. “It’s a dark mage,” Soren said simply. “Keep Rolf warm and get him to Mist.”

“Aye, that’s a good idea,” Brom agreed. Ripping a swath of canvas from atop a nearby crate, he began wrapping Rolf like an overgrown baby. With the boy draped across his arms, he started jogging back the way they’d come. But he stopped when he noticed Soren wasn’t following. “Aren’t you comin’?”

Soren shook his head and turned his gaze back to the opening in the wall, where his attention had never left. A dark mage was over there, and someone needed to kill them. “I will deal with this. Tell whoever you pass that the senators’ guards may wield light and dark magic. We must be careful.”

“Will do! Take care of yourself,” Brom bid, jogging away.

Soren pulled his hood up because it was best to show as little skin as possible when fighting a dark mage—or so he’d read. In reality he had as little experience with this as Rolf. Chanting a Wind spell, he readied himself to climb and jump over the remaining crates. When he released the spell, he arcing it to hit where he judged the mage to be, lunged up, and tumbled down the other side. 

Rolling to avoid the mage’s counterattack, Soren already had a Thunder spell prepared. The lightning bolt struck down exactly where the mage had been standing, but it hardly seemed to faze her. She merely pivoted to the side and released another spell; she was a fast incanter.

Soren was still getting to his feet, and although he jumped back to avoid the worst of the spell, a wave of tendril-like shadows washed against his legs before he could get away. The initial pain was sharp, like a million tiny pricks. Then the numbness set in. Soren stumbled backward, flailing and trying not to fall. His trousers stuck to his shins like ice to wet flesh. After the numbness came radiating pain, which rolled through the entirety of his legs and feet without a center or source. The ache ran deep into his bones. “ _Ah!_ ” he hissed before turning his breath into his next incantation.

“Die,” replied the woman, immediately chanting another spell—Swarm, if he recognized it correctly.

But Soren had started a fraction of a second before her, and he matched her every syllable until releasing his spell first. He cast Elfire, and threw himself out of the way in the same moment, certain that she would also reach the end of her incantation.

The shadow snagged his left foot this time, but knowing he had to sacrifice something, Soren had thrown himself toward the wall, where he could hold himself up instead of falling on the ground again. He gritted his teeth through the strange pain and decided it wasn’t as bad the second time.

The mage’s pitch-black cloak had caught fire, so she threw it aside. Soren used these precious milliseconds to start an Elwind spell, and he finished it when she was just starting her next Swarm spell. The invisible blades cut deep into her stomach and chest. Instead of ancient words, blood spurted from her mouth. She looked honestly surprised, and Soren wondered if she’d ever been bested by an elemental magic user before. He finished her off with a small Wind spell.

Once she was truly dead, Soren limped around the senator’s tent, using the palisade wall for support. The pain in his legs was mounting with every second, and he could hardly stay upright. He wasn’t usually one for looting, but he didn’t have a vulnerary on him and he didn’t know where Mist or Rhys were. He hoped there might be something here.

When he reached the front of the tent, he let go of the wall, fell, and dragged himself the rest of the way. Fortunately the senator and his guards were long gone. The opulent interior was in shambles, and there were jewels strewn on the carpet. There was also a Mend staff that he couldn’t use, but it did make a good cane, so he pulled himself up and searched the ornate golden cupboards and chests. Finally, he found a bag of tiny vials containing a foggy, light-blue liquid that Soren concluded had to be elixir.

He couldn’t feel his left foot at all now, so he collapsed on the ground and removed his boot. Seeing his own shriveled black flesh was frightening, but he willed himself to take deep, slow breaths. He couldn’t go into shock like Rolf; he was alone—which meant no Brom to swaddle him.

In fact, he couldn’t sense any mercenaries at all, and he could see, hear, and feel the fires inching closer. Commanding himself to stay calm, Soren poured an elixir on his skin and rubbed it while trying to ignore the fact that he couldn’t feel his own touch. As the seconds ticked by, the dead flesh slowly fell away, and fresh pink skin replaced it.

Soren sighed in relief, but it was premature. Just then, a Begnion swordsman started creeping around the side of the tent. They had their blade raised and their head ducked low as if being sneaky, but Soren saw their silhouette clearly through the white silk walls. Because he couldn’t stand yet, he sent a particularly sharp gust through the side of the tent and cut them somewhere close to the neck.

When the body didn’t get up, Soren decided it was safe enough to roll up his trousers and use another couple elixirs to heal his shins. Staying here was dangerous, but he couldn’t very well escape if he couldn’t walk. Another two Begnion soldiers came during the time his legs were healing, but Soren handled them too. The first one poked his head through the hole in the side of the tent just to have Soren gouge out his eyes with wind magic. His screams brought the other one, who ran through the tent’s entrance just in time to have his ankles cut from beneath him with another wind spell.

When the soldier crawled toward him with vengeance in his eyes, Soren found he could finally stand without pain. He killed the crawling man while ducking out of the tent, but he decided to leave the blinded one to be eaten by the encroaching flames. Looking around for some sign of where the fighting had gone, Soren wandered through the camp’s charred remains.

Eventually he sensed a couple mercenaries: Nephenee and Heather. Heather was holding Nephenee’s helmet between her arm and her hip while the splayed fingers of her hand pressed against Nephenee’s own hip. Her other hand was busy dabbing a laceration on her friend’s jaw and neck with an already bloody rag. Meanwhile Nephenee was holding her chin high and scanning the path behind Heather.

“Sor’n,” she greeted him through gritted teeth, although this seemed to cause more blood to ooze onto Heather’s hand.

“Careful,” she whispered urgently. “It’s not stopping.”

Soren handed her one of the remaining elixirs, saying, “Use this. We can’t stay here. Everyone else has moved on.”

“We got sep’rated,” Nephenee answered, taking the cloth and elixir from Heather to hold against her own neck.

“Fires are burning everywhere,” Heather added, although it went without saying.

“This way,” Soren said, hoping he was choosing the right path. 

In answer, Nephenee picked up her shield, slung it onto her back, and hefted her spear in the hand that wasn’t holding the cloth. Heather kept her friend’s helmet for safekeeping and drew her knife in a reverse grip with her opposite hand. Then all three jogged in the direction Soren had indicated.

Eventually, he sensed additional mercenaries nearby, which was a good sign he’d chosen correctly. Soon Brom and Ike burst out of a tent. They were both smiling in relief. “There you are!” Ike called, and Soren was equally glad to see him safe.

“What’d you do to your neck?” Brom asked, but when Nephenee pulled the cloth away, the wound was gone.

Soren gave the last two elixirs to Ike. “A gift from one of the senators,” he said.

Ike grinned and nodded. “They do have some nice stuff around here, don’t they?”

“Um, shouldn’ we be going?” Brom asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Right.” Ike grinned. “This way!”

They raced to catch up with everyone, and when they arrived, they found Shinon and Mia facing off against another dark mage. “Soldiers of Begnion!” growled the man. “Wipe out the bandits! Kill every last one of them!”

At his words, the surviving guards fought harder, but the mercenaries swiftly overpowered them, and soon the mage himself was dead with three of Shinon’s arrows sticking out of his back. Mia was shaking on the ground, her arms and neck visibly blackened by the spells, but Mist knelt over her in an instant.

Wherever the tendrils of shadow had struck her, Mia’s tunic had been worn to faded threads and the chainmail underneath corroded. Taking another look at his legs and left boot, Soren noticed that the fabric was disintegrating and the leather degrading.

“That dark magic is nasty stuff,” Ike said, echoing his thoughts, and Soren noticed that part of his cape looked torn and bleached. The back of his leather jerkin and part of his shirt and mail were similarly scarred.

Glancing around, Soren was just glad everyone seemed to be alive. “We knew the senators’ guards would be tough,” he said simply. 

“Yeah,” Ike agreed with a shake of his head. “Now we’d better go before Zelgius finds us. Everybody, through here!” he called, moving toward the gate. It was already wide open from the senators and soldiers who had escaped. “The fog is about to clear, and our work is done. Let’s pull back.”

They dashed out of the camp and into the trees, where Soren was relieved to find the Phoenicians waiting for them, even though he also noticed a few Begnion soldiers lying dead on the ground. “There you are!” hissed the leader of the hawks. “We thought you were all dead.”

“We got separated, and it took a while for everyone to get back together,” Ike answered with a shake of his head. “Thanks for waiting.”

“The feckless senators escaped ages ago!” the hawk returned. “They summoned their general, and he’s on his way. We need to get out of here _now_.”

Ike nodded firmly. “Let’s fly.” He seemed to forget his fear of heights until the hawk picked him up and he lurched off the ground. Soren appreciated his bewildered face for a moment, but then a hawk picked him up too.

Once he was in the air, he saw the fog was lifting just as Ike had predicted. The sky was already starting to brighten. The raid had gone on longer than he’d realized, and dawn would not be far now. The hawks carried them south to bypass the battle, and Soren could only wonder if everything was going according to plan.

Ranulf and his team had already returned, but it appeared only six of the original thirty had survived. A seventh was lying dead on the ground, apparently having just succumbed to his injuries—and Ranulf wasn’t far behind him. He was lying in a puddle of his own blood, covered in lacerations and large puncture wounds.

“Ranulf!” Mist screamed. She ran to his side as soon as her feet touched the ground. The rest of the mercenaries gathered around while the hawks mingled with their brethren.

“Can you hear me?” Ike asked, kneeling by Ranulf’s side.

“’Course…” Ranulf replied weakly. “He didn’t get…my ears.” In truth, a chunk of his right ear was missing, but no one pointed that out.

“General Zelgius did this?” Ike asked, while Mist started on the worst wounds.

“Yeah…” For a moment Ranulf’s gaze looked far away, and Soren wondered if he’d lost consciousness—or worse.

“Ranulf!” Ike shouted, touching his friend’s bloodied face with a gentleness that didn’t match his tone.

“Yeah…” Ranulf repeated, coming back to himself. “Tha’s one tough…beorc.”

“Just hang in there. Mist is going to take care of you.”

“I’ve got you now,” she said, echoing her brother’s promise. The hand that wasn’t holding her staff was clamped tight to his abdomen, and her fingers disappeared into an incision, perhaps to hold his spleen in place.

“Rhys, you get in here too,” Ike ordered, backing up.

“Of course, sir,” Rhys replied, falling to his knees in Ike’s place. He and Mist then took turns healing various wounds.

“Everyone else, saddle the horses!” Ike called, apparently deciding that Ranulf was going to live. “I am going to the battlefield. If you have strength left to fight, I’d have you with me!” 

Leaving the hawks and healers behind, the mercenaries charged across the plain, forded the river, and climbed the eastern bank. The fog had shrunk to just a foot or two off the ground now, and the hillocks looked like islands. Wherever the earth crested like this, Soren saw scattered bodies. Some wore brown Gallian leather and others red Begnion steel, and he had no doubt there were many more just under the blanket of fog.

“Watch your step,” Ike murmured, and the horses picked their way across the spent battlefield. Broken spears and fallen weapons stuck out of the ground like grave markers, and as they walked, Soren saw a tattered Begnion standard, the crumpled corpse of a wyvern, and the wingtip of a dead hawk. 

In the distance, the predawn brightness was shining on a retreating Begnion army, and even from here, Soren could tell the Laguz Alliance was slowing regrouping, and letting them go. The battle was over. Observing this, Ike changed his orders: “Spread out and help the survivors! Soren, Titania, let’s go find Skrimir and Tibarn.”

By true dawn, the Central Army was out of sight, and the Laguz Alliance was in the process of moving their camp across the river into Seliora. They had collected over three hundred Begnion prisoners, whom they kept tied up and under strict guard. Civilians came from a nearby town, asking if they could remove the soldiers’ bodies from the field and bury them with last rites. Skrimir grudgingly agreed, and for several hours, both laguz and beorc picked their way across the battlefield, finding and burying their dead.


	7. CHAPTER 73: GADDOS

Finding a secluded part of the Ribahn River, Soren bathed to remove the ash and dried blood from his skin. When he was sufficiently clean, he changed into fresh robes and boots he’d just purchased from Aimee.

He’d requested new clothing from the merchant weeks ago and given her his measurements, but he hadn’t actually purchased them until now. The timing seemed right, considering his shoes had continued to fall apart with every step since the dark magic attack. The rest of his clothes were hardly better, having seen too many battles and become motley with patches and repairs.

But the clothes Aimee had acquired were finer than he was used to. The tunic he donned now was dark blue, and the cloak white with gray embroidery. Green thread had been worked into the corner patterns, which were meant to indicate he was a wind sage. Everything was tailored to fit his small frame, and the fabric was of the highest quality. Aimee had even thrown in a fancy-looking dagger that attached to his new belt. More than just an accessory, it was deadly sharp.

Looking at his reflection in the murky water, he felt somewhat foolish. He didn’t usually care about his clothing, white cloaks were more Rhys’s style, and knives hardly seemed necessary when he carried a tome on his opposite hip. (He wondered if he shouldn’t have given Aimee so much freedom in what she ordered.) But he was also tired of being mistaken for a child, and he hoped these garments would remind people he was an accomplished sage, tactician, and mercenary.

When he finally returned to the campsite, Oscar ran up to him, saying the rest of the army’s leadership was already in a meeting and that they’d been looking for him. Soren made straight for the war council, reprimanding himself for straying so far from camp to bathe.

“I am late. My apologies,” he said when he entered the yurt. Ike, Skrimir, Tibarn, Ranulf, Reyson, and Titania were already assembled around a map of Seliora.

“Ah, here comes the great strategist!” Skrimir greeted him warmly, taking Soren by surprise. He patted the space next to him with one massive hand. “Don’t be so shy. Come sit next to me.”

“Not if you begged me, Skrimir,” Soren shot back, taking the empty spot between Ike and Titania instead.

“Soren!” Titania shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry. He’s just rude to everyone.”

“You still don’t trust me?” Skrimir asked, crossing his arms. “Then I will take the first step. I admit that we won the last battle thanks to your cleverness. I underestimated the wisdom of the beorc. As a general of Gallia, you have my thanks.” He inclined his head (which Soren knew was a big deal coming from him).

He hesitated before replying, because he half-wondered if there was some trick or insult hidden in the prince’s words. “…You’re welcome,” he finally said.

Skrimir grinned and unfolded his arms. Moving his hands to his hips, he leaned over the map. “Now what do we do next? We hit Begnion hard in the last battle. Surely we will use this opportunity to wipe out the enemy entirely?”

“Actually, it would be unwise to launch a new offensive now,” Soren countered honestly. It was something he’d been thinking about all morning. “I recommend we negotiate a peace treaty with Begnion.”

“What!” Skrimir was obviously aghast. “You’d give up our best opportunity to crush Begnion for some peace treaty?”

“For once, Skrimir, take a moment to actually think.” Soren took a deep breath, and when he continued, he addressed everyone. He needed them all to understand this. “Yes, we crossed the river, but we haven’t so much as touched the Central Army. We lost seven hundred Gallians and one hundred Phoenicians last night—more than thirteen percent of our army. Meanwhile, Zelgius lost less than sixth percent, which means they still outnumber us by more than three to one.”

“Enough with all these numbers,” Skrimir pouted. “What do you mean?”

“Begnion has the advantage,” Soren answered firmly. “It would be foolish to press the attack.”

“I must ask you to think harder!” the prince growled. “A peace treaty? Now? My soldiers will never accept this! We need another way!”

Ike didn’t seem to like this plan either. “What do you think, Ranulf?” he asked, turning to him. “Do you feel the same way?”

“Well…” Ranulf raised both palms. “It’s not so much how I feel, but how the Gallian military operates. Once fighting begins, our warriors are trained not to see anything except the enemy in front of them. In a long fight like this, it’s even harder to keep perspective.”

“The same goes for my tribe,” Tibarn added with a dark expression. “If we were to stop fighting now, I’d have to go around knocking every one of my men unconscious.” Soren understood he and the Phoenicians still wanted revenge for the attack on their island, but he’d hoped this victory might be enough to satisfy them. Obviously, that wasn’t going to be the case.

“But rushing headlong into the enemy and getting killed isn’t an option either,” Ranulf offered diplomatically. “Soren, can’t you think of something?”

All eyes were on him again, and Soren took his time constructing an answer. Yes, there was a path forward. They could pursue Zelgius’s army across Seliora, but that would mean the location of their next decisive battle would be entirely in Zelgius’s hands—and that gave him a dangerous advantage.

“Maybe it’s too much to ask,” Ranulf said after a while.

“No… I can do it,” Soren replied and told himself it was necessity, not pride, that forced him to agree. Everyone was expecting him to come up with a brilliant plan, and Ike was looking at him with utter confidence. If there was no option for retreat, he would come up with something. “Just let me think,” he sighed and closed his eyes.

One option was to head south, straight for Sienne, but then the Central Army would hit them from behind while the Capital Army hit them from the front. There would be no chance for survival.

Another option was to chase Zelgius down and attack his army from the rear. Doing so at night would give the Laguz Alliance the benefit of the Gallians’ night vision. But Zelgius knew the land well and was sure to make camp only in defensible positions. Neither would he allow himself to be easily snuck up on, and he was liable to turn such an assault into a counter-ambush. If anything went wrong, the Laguz Alliance could be decimated.

The third option was to move cautiously across Seliora, letting Zelgius lead them as if in a dance. When the Central Army finally stopped and fortified itself at its desired location—whether in a few days or a few weeks—that was when the Laguz Alliance would have to launch a devastating attack. Without knowing the location, it would be difficult to plan an offensive strategy. But if Soren trusted himself to come up with an idea when the time came, then this would be the best way to lull the Central Army into a false sense of security, and perhaps even trap them within their own defenses.

“Alright,” Soren finally said, opening his eyes. “Gather around the map. I’ll explain what we have to do…” At his words, everyone leaned in. Soren estimated the trajectory of the Central Army’s retreat and penned it into the paper. Then he described his plan for the Laguz Alliance’s pursuit and several contingencies depending which route Zelgius’s took east. That being said, he couldn’t actually predict where Zelgius was headed, and everything hinged on where the general chose to make his stand. 

Since the Laguz Alliance wasn’t seeking to negotiate at this time, they released all of their prisoners rather than keeping them hostage. They turned them over to the residents of a nearby town in return for medicine, traveling fare, and a herd of goats. Rifling through the remains of the Central Army’s camp was another good way to stock up on necessary supplies, and they even bolstered their funds with the valuables from the senator’s tents. Many of the laguz grumbled about picking through their enemies’ leftover, but soon they were ready to march again and that made them happy.

For two weeks, they chased the Central Army across Seliora. As could be expected, Zelgius sent small ambushes and distractions to slow them down, but the laguz handled each skirmish without a significant loss of life. Zelgius pulled ahead, and Soren let him go as long as they were only ever a day or two behind. 

By the end of the second week it was clear Zelgius intended to bypass Seliora entirely. He was heading straight to Gaddos, but Soren didn’t know what advantage he thought he would gain there. He considered the possibility that Zelgius may simply be stalling, but he couldn’t guess what for. It was maddening, and Soren anxiously awaited the scouts’ reports each day, hoping some new piece of information may reveal the general’s intentions.

Finally the hawk scouts reported that the Central Army had entered Castle Gaddos. This fort, which was located on the southwestern border of Gaddos hold, presided over Soze Pass, which led southward to central Begnion (and ultimately the capital). Zelgius was daring them to take it.

The land had grown rockier and more mountainous in recent days, although these limestone cliffs were unlike the volcanic ranges in central Tellius. They were striated and sheer, sometimes jutting out of the ground unexpectedly. To strike the heart of Begnion, the Laguz Alliance would have to take Soze Pass—and Soren would have to accept Zelgius’s dare.

“The entrance to Soze is Y-shaped,” Soren began, drawing everyone’s attention to the map the hawk scouts had sketched. “We may approach by either road, but at the intersection we will be faced with the fort’s archers and ballistae. The walls in front of Castle Gaddos are strong and the spine of rock at its back is impassible.”

“No mountain is impassible to my people,” Tibarn argued with an eager grin. “We’ll get in and open the door for our four-legged brethren.”

“While that is not a completely imbecilic plan,” Soren returned coolly, “too many hawks would be shot out of the sky before you could reach the gate, let alone take it. The chance of success is dismally low.”

Tibarn frowned. “What do you suggest, then?”

“We must draw them out from behind their walls.”

Ike cocked his head. “How?”

Soren brought his fingers together and jumped right into it: “Tonight, under the cover of darkness, the Gallian Army must make haste to Castle Gaddos, leaving their supplies and lodgings behind. They must not make a single fire, and Janaff and Ulki must be lent to them to help root out and eliminate Begnion scouts. Along the way, they must split into two units: one led by Skrimir on the west road and one led by Ranulf on the north road. Each must get into place and be hidden from Begnion by morning. Meanwhile, the Phoenician Armada will vacate the camp at dawn, flying to Castle Gaddos and attacking it directly as a decoy. As you’ve said, Tibarn, walls and mountains are no problem to your kind, and you will be able to move in and out of their range. If Zelgius thinks the Gallians are still a day’s march away, he will let his army leave the fort to corral you and make better use of his superior numbers. When the majority are outside, you must wedge the portcullis open and retreat. Only then will Skrimir and Ranulf launch their attacks, coming down each road to strike the army before they can fall back. Even if a number manage to get inside, with the gate stuck open, the Gallians can pursue them into the interior. Zelgius will not be able to retreat down Soze Pass with the senators still sequestered in the castle. He will be forced to surrender.”

Silence followed his words, and Soren found himself taking a sip of water to wet his dry tongue. He had spent days thinking of this plan, guessing that Castle Gaddos might be Zelgius’s destination. The reports this morning only confirmed his suspicions and allowed him to finally share this strategy with everyone else. After contemplating the details for so long, the plan seemed to him like nothing but a simple decoy operation, but he knew that, to the others, it probably sounded convoluted.

“A decoy I get,” Ike finally said, “but won’t Zelgius suspect something when the hawks show up alone?”

Soren nodded. “Zelgius knows Tibarn’s face.” He turned to the Hawk King. “You must find him and convince him you’ve split from Gallia of your own accord. Engage him—even if only for a moment—and accuse the beasts of holding back. Say they are timid because they have not lost what you have lost. Show him your anger. Let him think the Phoenician Armada made a mistake in coming alone because you were too blinded by revenge to wait… Can you do that?”

Tibarn narrowed his eyes and his mouth stretched into something that was not quite a smile. “Aye,” he said, “I could do that.”

“Wait, are you sure, Tibarn?” Ranulf asked. “The risk to your soldiers is going to be-”

“We can do it,” Tibarn said again. He shook his head. “You should be worried about yourselves. You’ve got a lot of miles to cover, and you’ll be fighting dead tired. Can you do it?”

Ranulf smiled. “Coming from the man who flew to Phoenicis and back with enough strength to fight the next day? We Gallians could not call ourselves laguz if we didn’t try to match you!”

Tibarn barked and slapped his knee. “It is decided then!”

“We will crush the humans tomorrow!” Skrimir cheered. “I cannot wait. I want to fight the big one.”

Ranulf winced visibly. Skrimir had been oddly obsessed with Zelgius ever since he’d heard the man had left his second in command within an inch of his life, but Ranulf clearly didn’t want the pair to meet. “Well, hopefully Zelgius chooses to surrender before that happens,” he countered. “Then we can all have a nice long chat…” His voice and eyes grew distant, and Soren wondered what Zelgius could have said or done to make him so wary (other than cutting him into smithereens, of course).

“You chat; I fight,” Skrimir returned. “Let’s go!”

While preparations were made, many Gallians chose to nap in anticipation of the long night. The Greil Mercenaries would be assigned to Ranulf’s northern battalion, which meant they had even farther to travel. Oscar was checking all of the horses’ hooves and gear, and Titania was trying to procure extra horses in case one twisted a hoof or collapsed from exhaustion during the hard ride. But Soren hoped that wouldn’t happen; even a small delay could be disastrous if it meant they didn’t get into position by daybreak. No matter how good Ulki’s ears were, he just had to miss one distant scout for Zelgius to know the Gallians were on his doorstep. Then he would never fall for Tibarn’s ploy. 

Soren was so busy thinking about how this strategy could so easily fail, he didn’t realize Ike had approached until he pressed both hands down on his shoulders. “This is going to work,” he said calmly, “so stop worrying.”

Soren shook his head but said nothing.

“You’re going to give yourself a headache wearing a face like that,” he goaded. “You should get some rest instead. We’re all going to need it for tonight.”

Soren sighed. “That is a perfectly logical suggestion,” he said, “but I wouldn’t be able to sleep.”

Ike frowned. “You’ve been more stressed about this war than when we invaded Daein,” he observed. “But we were always outnumbered back then, and we still won.”

“We were both inexperienced back then,” he reminded, “and we were lucky. Ashnard, his Riders, and the majority of his troops were still in Crimea. We were never facing serious commanders, and the reserve troops were spread thin. We didn’t even realize how easy we had it.”

“Well, that may be true,” Ike pouted, “but we have a lot more experience now. We can make this work.”

Soren shook his head. “I hope so.”

“C’mon, let’s at least try to get some rest.” At Ike’s coaxing, Soren allowed himself to be led to one of the mercenaries’ nearest tents. As long as Ike was with him, he wasn’t as anxious, and eventually he did pass into a restful half-sleep.

Soren’s thighs were raw, and every bone in his body felt ground to dust from the constant jolting. His horse’s mouth frothed and withers twitched when they finally stopped. The laguz were exhausted too, having sustained their animal forms at a run for over six hours. Getting off the road before dawn, Ranulf’s battalion broke up and tucked itself into caves, crevasses, and blinds in the cliff-riddled landscape. Here they guzzled water and chewed the bunches of olivi grass they’d brought with them. These bitter herbs served as a mild analgesic and stimulant to beorc, but they were essential to laguz soldiers. Olivi grass helped them recover their energy and sustain their transformations far longer than they would naturally. Although this mission would deplete the store the Gallians had brought for the campaign, it was necessary if the army was going fight in the coming hours.

The Greil Mercenaries had no miracle herbs to revitalize them, but they did their best to rest their sore muscles and prepare for the battle. Meanwhile Ulki took out another Begnion scout before he could discover their hiding place, and Soren hoped Zelgius would be too distracted by Tibarn to realize his soldiers weren’t returning. The hawks should be launching their attack soon.

A half hour later, a hawk messenger appeared from the south. This was earlier than expected, but Ike and Ranulf commanded their troops get ready. Meanwhile, Soren and Titania rode out to meet the hawk, who was desperately looking for someone in command. When they approached, however, Soren noticed her wide eyes and frantic flapping. Something was wrong.

“Is it time?” Titania asked, apparently not noticing the hawk’s fear.

Landing in front of Titania’s horse, she didn’t even fold her wings. “General Skrimir charged early! The plan fell apart!”

“What!” Titania demanded, and the hawk shivered under her gaze.

“The gates aren’t open, but the beorc general had half his army hidden to the south. Skrimir’s unit is being hit from two sides.”

“What is Tibarn doing?” Soren demanded.

“The King is lending support, but we need new orders!” she returned frantically.

Soren yanked his horse’s reins, running back to where Ike, Ranulf, and Kyza were hiding nearby. Titania and the messenger were right behind him.

“Ike!” Titania cried, pulling ahead. “Skrimir has begun the charge early, and a company of enemy troops have appeared to the south of his forces.”

“General Zelgius seems to be in command,” Soren added.

“Uh oh.” Ike’s face fell. “That’s not good.”

“If Skrimir’s force collapses, we will be penned in by Begnion,” Soren hurried to explain. “We must change our strategy and give Skrimir a chance to fall back. Ike, let’s help with the rescue.”

“Got it,” Ike agreed. He turned to Ranulf: We’ll have to come around the fort fast and hit Zelgius’s army hard enough for them to have to regroup. While they do that, we find Skrimir. Once we have him, everyone retreats up the west road, got it?”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Ranulf agreed. “Let’s go save Skrimir.”

“Titania,” Ike turned to her, “let Tibarn know what we’re doing.”

She nodded and gestured for the messenger to come with her. A moment later, she was galloping down the road with the hawk flying overhead. Ike called for the rest of the battalion to come out of hiding; they wouldn’t be far behind her.

The archers and ballistae firing from the fort were devastating, even with Tibarn’s hawks trying to distract them. Soren chanted while he rode, pushing a river of wind alongside him and shredding the arrows coming in his direction. This protected the mercenaries nearby, but there was nothing he could do for the rest of the battalion, and there was certainly nothing he could do to stop the ballistae showering them with rock and shale.

Begnion’s ground troops saw them coming with ample time to form a defensive line. But at least this meant they temporarily pulled back from their ongoing battle with Skrimir’s battalion. A moment later, Ranulf’s battalion crashed into the Central Army, and Ike and Ranulf urged their troops not to slow down. While Soren fought his way through the frontlines, he tried to locate Zelgius or Skrimir, but they were nowhere to be seen. Ranulf and Kyza pulled away to the west, using their keen noses to track their leader. Soren, Ike, and the other mercenaries followed.

Soon they arrived at the base of a cliff, the slopes of which were not as sheer as those neighboring it. A winding trail was carved into the jutting rocks, and Soren saw plenty of red-armored soldiers and a few colorful cats and tigers caught in individual battles leading all the way to the top. Ranulf and Kyza were standing at the bottom, where they appeared to have met up with Lethe, Lyre, Mordecai, and a dozen other laguz.

“Where’s Skrimir?” Ike panted. Like Soren, he’d lost his horse in the battle and was now running on foot.

“He’s charged up that cliff, chasing after Zelgius.” Ranulf pointed with his muzzle.

“We have to get up there.” Ike adjusted his grip on his already blood-wet sword. “The two of us might be able to save him from Zelgius.”

“Kyza, can you carve us a path to the top?” Ranulf turned to him.

Ever unruffled, the blue-gray tiger gazed up the cliffside and nodded once. “Certainly, Captain,” he said, “We’ll neutralize anyone in your way.”

“Us too!” Lyre added excitedly.

“Alright!” Ike called, loud enough for every mercenary to hear. “Time is a factor here, everyone, so let’s make this quick!”

Kyza and the other laguz charged up the path with Ike and Ranulf right behind them. Soren and a few other mercenaries followed in their wake, finishing off anyone who managed to get to their feet after the laguz pushed past. Soren even used his knife for the first time—finding it convenient to sheathe the blade in the neck of a soldier trying to rise while simultaneously directing his next wind spell at a more mobile opponent. Meanwhile Titania and the rest of the beorc were guarding the base of the cliff to prevent additional soldiers from pursuing them. 

When they finally reached the top, the ground plateaued, and although there were several Gallians and Begnions here, Soren was surprised to see no one was fighting. Or rather, only two people were fighting: Skrimir and Zelgius.

The Gallian soldiers stood in a semicircle on the left, all in their human forms and with fists clenched. The Begnion soldiers stood in a semicircle on the right, and their weapons were all sheathed. The battle had clearly been going on for some time. Zelgius had a few scratches on his armor, but Skrimir was far worse. Blood smeared the ground, and there were pawprints everywhere. Although Skrimir’s fur also was red, it was easy to see the bloody gashes spreading with his every move and oozing down his legs, chest, and sides. A cut had been drawn down his forehead to his snout, and one eye was clamped closed.

“No!” Ranulf cried, when he saw the proud lion swaying on his feet. Zelgius spun his word, grasped it in both hands, and plunged it deep into Skrimir’s ribcage. “Skrimir!” Ranulf screamed, but Ike tackled his haunches to stop him from sprinting into the duel.

“Stop, Ranulf!” he ordered as they struggled. “Don’t get too close!” He pulled firmly on Ranulf’s tail, and the cat resigned himself to staring as his prince bled out. A second later, Skrimir reverted to his human form, looking even more mangled now that he was slightly smaller 

Satisfied that his opponent was at death’s door, Zelgius stowed his blade and walked to the edge of the cliff. “Heed my words, Laguz Alliance!” he bellowed to the battle below. Trumpeters relayed orders to halt and stand at attention, and the soldiers gradually stopped fighting. “I am Zelgius, General of the Begnion Central Army!” he continued, “Your general has fallen to my blade in single combat! My army does not wish to continue this senseless bloodshed. Leave this place immediately! Soldiers of Begnion! I forbid you to attack the fleeing laguz soldiers! This fight is finished!”

Trumpeters now relayed a command to retreat and standby, which prompted a panicked rush of murmuring among the troops. But the beorc and laguz were already disentangling themselves, moving to separate parts of the road-turned-battleground. As Zelgius’s order reached the fort, the archers and ballistae stopped firing.

But then, one of the Gallian soldiers rushed past Soren, coming to stand at the cliff’s edge just a few yards from Zelgius. “NO!” he shouted, and the resounding echo of his voice drew everyone’s attention back to the mount. “If General Skrimir is defeated, we must fight on in his name! We must get revenge! Don’t be fooled by that human! Fight on, brothers!” Drummers rolled out an attack order, and the battle immediately resumed.

Ranulf leapt to his feet (two of them this time), and Ike let him go. He rushed to stand between Zelgius and the soldier. “Stop!” he yelled, and the drumbeat swiftly turned. Fighting died down again, and the laguz raised their eyes and ears to him. “We will fall back! Brothers, sisters, listen to me! I swear upon my life that I’ll take Skrimir back with us! Fall back!” The drummers continued the relentless command for retreat, and the armies separated. 

“A wise choice.” Zelgius inclined his head to Ranulf and walked back to his awaiting men. “Levail, return to the fort,” he said dismissively to a young-looking man in ornate armor. He wore the badges of a minor general despite his age. “I have business to take care of.”

The younger general saluted and departed down the mountainside with his soldiers. The Gallians stepped aside to let them go, although they clearly weren’t happy about it. Meanwhile, Ike and Ranulf knelt by Skrimir’s body. Soren walked forward for a closer look as well, and he detected a haggard rise and fall on the left side of Skrimir’s chest. One lung was still working, and the lion prince was clinging to life—for now.

Zelgius stepped closer to the trio, and Ranulf asked without getting up: “What are you plotting? You could have crushed us.”

It was the same question on Soren’s mind, but he held back. Zelgius’s eyes were crawling over Ike, not Ranulf or Skrimir—and Soren didn’t like it. There was something else he didn’t like either, although he was having trouble putting his finger on the sensation. Even with his blade sheathed, Zelgius felt dangerous. Then, suddenly, Soren realized what he was feeling: Zelgius was a Branded. The familiarity rushed deep into his mind, to some instinctual place, just as it had with Petrine. He kicked himself for never noticing it back in Nevassa.

“True,” Zelgius finally answered, and he pulled his eyes away from Ike to address Ranulf’s question. “That’s exactly what the heads of the senate want. But the Apostle feels differently. She wishes to resolve this conflict without violence, but Begnion is not united on this idea.” He paused a moment, and his expression was dead serious. “If you arrange a peace proposal from your people, the Apostle will accept it.”

“But…to begin a peace talk under the current circumstances…” Ike shook his head.

“The most favorable opportunity for a peace talk would have been when you crossed the river,” Zelgius replied in an even tone. “You missed that chance, and now look at where you are.”

His words were a slap in the face, especially since Soren was already reeling from the discovery that Zelgius somehow had laguz blood. He tried not to think about that now, instead facing the fact that Zelgius was absolutely right. Soren should have convinced Skrimir and Tibarn to draw a treaty. He shouldn’t have capitulated to their thirst for revenge.

Soren felt suddenly ashamed. No matter his reason for pursuing this conflict, the fact of the matter was that he had failed. Zelgius had been prepared for them. He’d already positioned himself outside of Castle Gaddos. Soren’s decoy plan never would have worked. The truth of that stung. He couldn’t even find consolation in being bested by a better tactician. Zelgius didn’t do what he did to defeat the Laguz Alliance. He didn’t even want to fight. He’d challenged Skrimir to a duel simply to stop the bloodshed. If he’d actually wanted to defeat the Laguz Alliance in open battle, he would have.

“Think it over,” Zelgius concluded. “I’ll give you three days. Request a peace talk within that time. If that isn’t possible, negotiations are over.” He paused a moment to let that sink in. “I sincerely hope that won’t be the case.” With that, he walked away, but not without first saying over his shoulder: “As for the heir of King Caineghis, he will be fine. Treat his wounds quickly.”

With the victorious general’s permission, Mist flew forward as if a string holding her back had suddenly snapped. She joined Ike and Ranulf at Skrimir’s side and immediately started healing him. “You mean you didn’t finish him off on purpose?” Ike asked in astonishment. “Why not?”

“It does not matter who the enemy is. If there is a way to avoid taking a life, that is the path I will choose. Leave now. I swear upon my name that my men will not attack as you retreat.” With that, Zelgius turned his face forward again and continued down the cliffside path.

When Skrimir was breathing with two lungs again and no longer pouring blood like a slaughtered pig, Ranulf and Ike each took one of his arms and started dragging him down the cliff. At the bottom, they met Titania, Tibarn, Reyson, Mordo, and the rest of the Laguz Alliance. No one said a word, and they started the slow march up the west road, back to the camp they’d vacated last night.

Most of the soldiers were badly injured, and there were many hawks who were forced to walk due to broken or shredded wings. Even before they arrived at camp, Soren estimated nine hundred Gallians and six hundred Phoenicians dead. More would surely succumb to their injuries in the coming hours, and infections in the coming days.

Mist and Rhys healed everyone they could along the way, stopping every mile or so when a significant number of the troops could no longer take another step. Their pride sufficiently crushed, no one complained or rejected the healers’ alms. The pair sapped two staves completely dry and then donated the sticks as crutches. They continued to sap their own energy as well and only stopped when they both collapsed from magic exhaustion, clammy, feverish, and shivering. Ike gave Skrimir’s left side to another soldier and ended up carrying Mist instead. He scolded her unconscious body for her carelessness, but Soren knew how worried he really was. Titania walked beside her steed with Rhys slumped in the saddle. Her stallion was limping too, but apparently she wasn’t willing to leave him behind.

They didn’t arrive back at the camp until long after nightfall, and here they stayed for a few hours while tending the injured and replenishing their strength with food and water. When Mist regained consciousness, Ike forbid her from healing anyone again until she’d recovered her full strength. All the vulneraries were soon used up, but hundreds were still too injured to march.

But neither could they stay here. Even if Zelgius kept his promise, he’d warned that the theocracy was divided on how to address the laguz invasion. It was still too likely that they’d be followed and ambushed, so they resumed their march at dawn. Many of the soldiers carried their injured brethren on their backs or pulled two or more in handcarts. Some hawks strung hammocks between them and carried their broken comrades that way. Aimee and Muston made room in their wagons to carry even more.

“There you are,” Ike said when he tracked Soren down. He’d been marching among the troops instead of with the mercenaries, and he felt guilty now that Ike approached him—as if he had been caught hiding. “We need to find somewhere defensible we can stay while we figure out what to do. Where should we go?”

Soren opened his mouth to answer, but the bitterness of defeat stilled his tongue. He second-guessed himself, wondering if the destination he proposed would be a trap or another foolish hope.

“Soren, snap out of it!” Ike scolded. “We’re not done yet.”

He did not reply to that, because Ike was wrong. They were done. There would be no coming back from this defeat.

“No one blames you,” Ike growled under his breath, “If anything, you were the only one who was actually right. The rest of us are to blame for not taking peace when we had the chance! But thinking about the past is a waste of time. We’re here now, and we still need you. _I_ still need you. Focus!”

Soren shook his head, surprised by the strength of Ike’s words. “…Seliora Castle,” he finally said. “It’s a day’s march west. We already know Lord Seliora and his guards won’t be there since they’ve united with the Central Army.”

Ike smiled in relief. “A senator’s family home? Sounds perfect.”

“I am sorry,” Soren said, meeting Ike’s gaze. “I will try to be more attentive.”

“We still have a job to do,” Ike reminded him. “As long as we’re alive, we will still have a job to do.”


	8. CHAPTER 74: RETREAT

The wall gates around Seliora Castle were closed, but the hawks easily opened them from within. The front doors to the castle were similarly locked, but Heather had no problem picking the mechanism (and without charging Volke’s exorbitant fee). There was no sign of a standing guard, but inside they found a small horde of servants brandishing broomsticks and candelabras. They lowered their makeshift weapons when Ike explained that they were not here to harm them or loot the place for valuables. “We might help ourselves to the food and bedding,” he said, “but you don’t have to stay.”

“In fact, you should probably get out of here,” Tibarn added. “We’ll give you ten minutes.”

The servants, their eyes wide in fear, instantly scattered. Most ran straight for the front door, but others grabbed whatever they could carry before leaving. Soren spotted one enterprising young servant stuffing her pockets with necklaces, and he had little doubt she would blame them for the theft (a resourceful girl). 

Once the castle was cleared, Ike and Ranulf set about assigning every soldier a bed, a cot, or at least a bedroll by a fire. Mist and Rhys searched for bandages and medicine while Oscar and Rolf plundered the kitchen. Meanwhile Tibarn and Titania were planning scouting missions for tomorrow. Between their meetings, they debriefed scouts returning from previous excursions. When Soren passed Titania in the hallway, she told him that many of the northern troops had split from the Central Army and were already passing back into Seliora. They moved in small regiments, apparently on their way to guard towns and garrison vacated forts. “Let’s hope they don’t come here,” Soren replied, hoping they could trust Zelgius’s promise.

Soren spent the evening wandering the castle and learning its layout and defenses, just in case they had to defend it. He also searched through Lord Seliora’s library, where he found a couple wind and fire tomes whose pages he pilfered, adding them to his shrinking collection. He rebound his spell book and then fell asleep in the corner of the library. It was cold, but he didn’t care.

The next morning, the Laguz Alliance’s war council convened, and Soren had a feeling it would be the last time. Ike, Ranulf, Tibarn, Reyson, and Titania were all here, but Skrimir was missing. The lion prince had been mostly conscious this morning, but Ranulf claimed he was still too weak to attend. Soren wondered if his injured pride could also be keeping him in bed.

After Tibarn and Titania gave their latest reports from the scouting missions, Soren explained that they could expect Zelgius to catch up in three days: one more day on his ceasefire and two for travel. He then recommended they not stay here and allow that to happen.

“Yeah,” Ranulf agreed. “Actually, I’ve spoken to Skrimir, and…we’re going to leave today, before noon. A full retreat.”

“…Three days, huh?” Tibarn thought aloud. “What will the beast tribe do, Ranulf? Will Gallia make peace with Begnion?”

“No, but…” Ranulf shook his head. “I’m sorry, Tibarn. Now that Skrimir has been incapacitated…Gallia can’t go on any further.”

“Right…” Tibarn blinked slowly. “That’s too bad. I guess the Laguz Alliance has to take a break, then.”

“What about you?” Ike asked. “Will Phoenicis agree to a peace talk?”

Tibarn stared into the middle distance. “I haven’t decided,” he finally answered. “Our force lacks numbers and supplies. We can’t possibly take them on, but…I imagine that a ‘peace’ talk would be far from pleasant.” After the massacre of his people, Soren was honestly surprised he would even consider capitulating to Begnion. He supposed Tibarn might just be wise enough to put aside revenge if it meant his people’s survival.

“General Zelgius seems like a trustworthy beorc,” Ranulf spoke up, but there was something uncertain in voice. Soren wondered if his apprehension was due to the fact that Zelgius wasn’t ‘beorc’ at all. He was staring at the ground, but now he shook his head and swallowed. “…I also know from the Mad King’s War that even the apostle is not a bad person at heart. But in reality, the senate controls Begnion right now. They were the ones who killed our messengers.”

Ike bobbed his head in agreement, and his mouth puckered in thought. “I know that General Zelgius can’t disobey orders from the senate. But what about the apostle? She’s Begnion’s supreme leader, right? Can’t we just contact her directly?”

“Trust me, we tried,” Reyson answered with arms crossed. Soren wondered if he regretted forgiving Sanaki and healing the Serenes Forest for her. “All our efforts were in vain. It’s not just the laguz either. Tanith said that the apostle won’t even meet with the Holy Guard these days.”

“Wait, she won’t meet with Tanith?” Ranulf exclaimed, but his outburst seemed to drain him. “There’s something very wrong with all of this…”

“What the hell is happening in Begnion?” Ike agreed with a shake of his head.

“Well, we’ll stick around and see what happens for now,” Tibarn decided. “The Laguz Alliance will disband temporarily. The problem is Gallia’s retreat. You’ve got a lot of ground to cover before Begnion attacks in three days.”

“Agreed,” Ranulf sighed.

Before the Gallian Army left, Ranulf officially released the Greil Mercenaries from their contract and paid them what they were due. He couldn’t give them the bonus because the campaign had ended in defeat, but he still rounded up the last month. 

“Where will you go?” he asked.

“Oh, we’ll be right behind you,” Ike assured. “We’ll catch up in a few days. When we’re all safely in Gallia, then I suppose the Greil Mercenaries will go back to Crimea. But let’s focus on the first thing first.”

Ranulf smiled. “Thank you, Ike. You’re a good friend.”

Ike gave him a farewell hug, saying, “Be safe on the road. We’ll see you soon.” With that, Ranulf, Lethe, Lyre, and Mordecai waved farewell to their mercenary friends. Skrimir and Kyza were with them, but Skrimir seemed too weak to smile and wave and Kyza was far too serious. With that, they turned and began their long march west.

When they were out of sight, Tibarn mustered his remaining hawks for a lengthy scouting mission. Many of his injured soldiers were marching or being carried back to Gallia with the other laguz, but those who remained were going to gather intelligence on what was happening in Begnion and what Kilvas was doing now.

Tibarn left Reyson with the Greil Mercenaries, however, asking that they escort him safely to Gallia. No contract was signed and Tibarn had given them no coin, but Ike accepted the job anyway. Soren didn’t argue, because he knew the rest of the mercenaries would want to do this favor, just like Ike. He would be outvoted.

By the second day at Castle Seliora, only the Greil Mercenaries (including Haar, Ilyana, Brom, Nephenee, and Heather), Reyson, and the merchants remained. They drew hot baths, ate the lord’s food, rearranged his knickknacks, and played with his display of ancient weaponry and armor. Titania appropriated fresh horses from his stables, and Oscar baked hardtack for traveling. The servants stayed away, and no one came from town to demand they leave.

Titania had gone out for a leisurely ride, but when Soren saw her returning, she was whipping her horse into a hard gallop. A moment later, an army appeared around the bend in the hills behind her. Pulling his legs back onto the balcony, Soren stood. He hadn’t been waiting for Titania; he hadn’t been watching for an army. He hadn’t expected this—but he was not surprised. In retrospect, it felt inevitable.

By the time Titania burst through the front gate, Soren had sounded the alarm, and Gatrie was there to close it behind her. Meanwhile Boyd and Haar were checking that the other two gates were secure.

“Enemies incoming!” Titania shouted as she stormed into the bailey. “We’re under attack!” Anyone who had yet to hear Soren’s announcement certainly heard hers, and soon everyone was strapping on weapons and armor and running outside. Upon Titania’s order, Rolf and Shinon went to prepare the ballistae.

Reyson perched on the railing beside Soren and glared at the columns of red-armored soldiers with a ferocity that defied his angelic features. The battalion had nearly reached the gate, and Soren counted two hundred infantry and a hundred cavalry. Someone at the head of the army blew a horn, and the columns halted their advance to fan out. A moment later that same horn-blower started demanding the castle’s surrender.

Just then, Ike and Titania burst onto the balcony behind him—apparently coming for a quick view. “It hasn’t been three days yet!” Ike was saying.

“It seems they couldn’t care less. They must have begun marching during Zelgius’s grace period, regardless of his orders,” Soren replied. “They are demanding we vacate the castle. If we do not comply, they will attack.”

“They were probably waiting for both the Gallians and the hawk tribe to leave,” Reyson added in an annoyed hiss.

“Oh, they think they can take us now that we’re alone, huh?” Ike twisted his mouth as if accepting the challenge. “They obviously don’t know who they’re up against. Let’s make them remember the name of the Greil Mercenaries!” he shouted down to the bailey. “Everyone, get in position! Let’s take them out!”

Reyson stepped off the ledge and glided to the wide, wraparound balcony where Rolf and Shinon were loading the mounted scorpions. Then Ike and Titania twisted around and started running back down the stairs. Soren was right behind them.

Seventeen against three hundred would ordinarily be impossible, but the mercenaries had the walls and ballistae in their favor. That meant they had a chance. In fact, they had exactly three chances at victory: they could kill enough soldiers to convince their commander it wasn’t worth the cost to reclaim the stupid castle, they could hold out until the Phoenician Armada returned, or they could weaken the army’s western flank to escape on horseback with the merchant wagons in tow. However, Soren had no idea when Tibarn would return, and the odds of surviving such an escape attempt were slim. For now, they just needed to survive.

Soren was deployed on the west wall, the only section wide enough to have battlements. Here he stayed, running back and forth and striking Begnion soldiers with wind, fire, and lightning as they tried to climb up with ladders and grappling hooks. Nephenee was stationed with him, and if one of the soldiers managed to get all the way up, she threw them back over the side or killed them on the spot. When archers shot at them, they both ducked below the parapet. Rolf’s scorpion was nearby, and he would occasionally support them by thinning the ranks with a few steel bolts. When more soldiers managed to climb up than Soren and Nephenee could handle, they could count on him for a few well-aimed arrows too.

Not far away, Haar and Boyd were manning the western door in the south wall, but Soren could tell by the sound of fighting that the door had already been chopped to splinters and the pair were barely holding the entrance (Haar from above and Boyd from below).

Although it was farther away, Soren knew Ike, Titania, Oscar, and Mist were manning the front gate, and he had little doubt it would be knocked down any moment if it wasn’t already. He hoped they were okay, because that seemed to be where the Begnion troops were focusing the brunt of their assault.

On the other side of the castle, Ilyana, Gatrie, Mia, and Heather were manning the eastern gate. Soren couldn’t know for certain how they were faring. But Shinon was operating the scorpion on that side, and Soren heard it firing steadily, which meant he was still alive. This, in turn, meant soldiers couldn’t be pouring in.

Reyson and Rhys moved from one gate to the next, singing and healing. Just as during the Mad King’s War, Soren felt stronger when Reyson was singing galdr nearby. His mind was sharper, his senses clearer, and his spells more powerful. His wounds felt less painful, and they oozed less blood as clotting and healing quickened. But the magic always faded when the heron moved away (and sometimes that felt worse than no galdr at all).

“*Spirits of flame, molten rock, lay waste to my enemy,*” Soren chanted, summoning his power to cast Bolganone. The advanced spell sapped his strength, but it was more powerful now than it had been that night in Mugill. He managed to dig a trench of lava at the base of the wall, and the soldiers standing there either caught fire, had their boots (and the soles of their feet) melted off, or threw themselves backward, avoiding the attack. Nephenee jabbed one of the soldiers climbing a rope, and he accidentally let go, falling into the lava and immediately catching flame. He screamed and writhed, splashing molten earth onto his struggling comrades.

But then Soren had to let the spell go, unable to sustain it or risk passing out. The ground would take a few seconds too cool, and that gave him and Nephenee a moment to catch their breath. Another soldier had been climbing a rope, but when he arrived, Nephenee just kicked him in the face before he could pull himself over the parapet. He fell to the ground, and although the drop didn’t kill him, Soren did hear a crack and plenty of sobbing.

He and Nephenee pulled off the grappling hooks and threw them back toward Rolf so the Begnion soldiers couldn’t use them anymore. But there were more ropes where those came from, and now that the ground was solid again, the soldiers resumed their attack.

“There’s no end to ‘em,” Nephenee groaned.

Just then, a squad of archers appeared, and Soren was forced to apply his magic to fending off the volleys instead of handling the climbers. This meant more were crawling up than Nephenee could manage.

“Uh, Rolf!” Nephenee called. “We could use some help!”

In answer, the boy hopped down from the balcony and struck a soldier with his bow, sending him over the side. “Sorry!” he said, jumping back. “I just used the last bolt!” He drew three arrows from his quiver, and Soren took this as a sign to let the winds die. Rolf sent each one flying in quick succession toward the squad of archers. His range was farther than Soren could cast, and his aim was perfect.

The others kept firing, and this time Soren ducked and dodged to avoid the arrows so Rolf could keep shooting. Nephenee kept her shield in front of her face, but she continued to stab at the soldiers crawling over the side.

Two got to their feet, and Soren killed one with Elfire. But at the same time, an arrow found his leg, and he struggled not to collapse. Gritting his teeth and limping backward, he narrowly avoiding the other soldier’s sword. Nephenee tried to stab him with the back of her spear before lunging forward to stab another soldier with the front. But the first strike missed, and the soldier was still coming.

Soren had reached the end of an Elthunder spell, but the man raised his sword to the sky and gripped Soren’s throat. If he electrocuted him now, he would shock himself too. At the last second, he changed the direction of the bolt, striking the floor instead.

The wall trembled under his feet, and bits of stone flew in every direction. Nephenee and Rolf cried out in surprise but kept fighting. The swordsman at Soren’s throat lost his balance for a moment, and his swing became sloppy. It landed next to Soren’s neck instead of into it, smashing his collarbone and cutting deep.

“ _Agh!_ ” Soren cried and let himself drop. He threw himself into the soldier’s leg, tackling him to the ground too. The soldier tried to kick him off and, when Soren withdrew his dagger, managed to kick it away while badly bruising Soren’s fingers. However, the knife had been hardly more than a distraction, and Soren finished chanting another Elthunder spell. This time he let go before it hit, and the man was fried where he lay.

Looking around, Soren saw that Nephenee and Rolf were still fighting for their lives. He limped back to them, but with one leg impaired, one arm useless, and blood slowly pooling in his right lung, he didn’t know how much help he would be. He hung back, hoping Rhys would visit again soon. From here he shot wind spells into any soldier who dared crawl over the edge. Eventually, this allowed Nephenee and Rolf to remove the ones who’d already made it up.

Fortunately, Rhys and Reyson returned before long. Rhys healed his neck but then moved onto Rolf’s newest headwound instead of attending his leg. He couldn’t complain. Rhys knew his first priority was to keep all of the mercenaries alive and conscious. If Soren was standing (albeit lopsidedly), he could wait.

Then again, he grew less complacent when Reyson suddenly stopped singing. Soren’s calf suddenly screamed in pain again, and he realized his patience was due in part to the heron’s calming galdr. Reyson jerked his head to the side, staring in the direction of the main gate.

Soren was afraid something terrible had happened. Then he noticed the hundreds of Begnion reinforcements arriving in the distance and realized something terrible was happening indeed. “We’re not going to survive this,” he muttered under his breath.

“Don’ say _that!_ ” Nephenee complained.

A moment later, however, the Begnion trumpeters were signaling retreat, and the soldiers at the base of the wall started falling back.

“What’s happening?” he asked Reyson, hoping his hearing was better than his own.

“Someone has come to reprimand the Begnion commander,” Reyson replied. “I will discover more.” With that, he flapped his wings and glided over to the main gate. Part of Soren wanted to go with him, but he knew Begnion could resume its attack at any moment. He needed to stay in position.

A sudden wrenching pain in his leg reminded him of his wound. Rhys was kneeling beside him, and he had just torn out the arrow. He winced apologetically.

“Some warning next time?” Soren spat. Then he lowered himself to the ground, because that was what the seeping blood loss wanted him to do. With one leg outstretched, he waited for Rhys to finish.

The Begnion troops continued to retreat, and by the time Soren could stand again, he determined the soldiers were not coming back. He and the others descended the wall and found Ike’s group (plus Boyd and Haar) in the bailey. As expected, the gate was nothing but splinters hanging on broken hinges. Ike was bloodied and bruised but no worse for wear.

“Someone loyal to Zelgius came and ordered the troops to stop,” Ike explained in answer to Soren’s questioning look. “It was that young general, the one who was on the cliff with Zelgius back in Gaddos.”

“I suppose we owe him our lives,” Soren replied sarcastically.

Ike grinned. “Well I sure appreciate him coming to our rescue.”

“What’s with this ‘rescue’ business?” Boyd asked, holding a gash in his side. “We were definitely winning!” Rhys gently pulled away his hand. “Ah, ah! Hey, that hurts.”

“Let me attend this,” Rhys replied, “You should sit down.”

Just then, Gatrie, Shinon, and the rest came around from the other side of the castle. “They get cold feet?” Shinon called. Ike shook his head and offered the same explanation he’d just given Soren.

By the time he was done, Mist was standing by the broken gate and pointing into the sky with a giddy smile. “King Tibarn is back!”

Tibarn, Janaff, and Ulki were clearly visible, while behind them loomed a flock of other scouts. “Hey, hold on a minute!” Janaff exclaimed, swooping over the dead soldiers. “What’s going on here?” He landed in front of Ike and reverted his form. “We hurry back, and you don’t even save us anyone to fight?”

“Sorry about that.” Ike nodded. “You’re back sooner than I expected. How far out did you scout?”

Tibarn perched on top of the wall and transformed so his legs now hung over the edge. “We went to the enemy’s headquarters, Castle Gaddos,” he explained, looking over his shoulder to the east. Then he dropped down, throwing out his wings to decrease the impact of the fall. “As promised, the Begnion forces were waiting quietly in their castle. Apparently, some of their soldiers disobeyed orders, but we can trust Zelgius to keep the rest in line.”

Ike opened his mouth to say something, but Tibarn cut him off:

“I have other news, however. I ran into someone quite unexpected on the outskirts of enemy territory.”

“Who?” Ike asked, confused.

“The Commander of the Holy Guards,” Tibarn replied, raising his hands and shoulders as if to say he was surprised too.

“General Sigrun?”

“Yeah. She was by herself, and she seemed hesitant to get near Castle Gaddos. It was odd.” He shrugged again. “I figured since she’s a friend and loyal to the Apostle, why not try to get some information from her? But she wouldn’t budge. Tough girl, that one. She wasn’t at all surprised to see me, either. Then she said, in such a sad voice: ‘Please escape at once’.” He moved his hands to the side of face and raised the pitch of his voice in a very inaccurate impression of Sigrun.

Ike didn’t laugh. “I wonder what she meant by that? It can’t be a good sign.” He scuffed his toe between the cobblestones at his feet. “This whole mess is getting worse by the minute.”

“Whatever the current state of the theocracy,” Soren proposed logically, “we are in no position to take advantage of their squabbles. Right now, it is in our best interest to take Sigrun’s advice. We should depart Seliora Castle before Zelgius loses control and the entire Northern Army attacks us.”

“My hawks should all return by morning,” Tibarn said. “If you wait, we can travel west together.”

Ike gave a firm nod. “We should be safe for one more night.”

The Phoenicians and mercenaries made haste across Seliora, following the footprints of the Gallian Army. In each town, they asked how long ago the beasts had passed, and in this way, they were able to stay on their trail.

After a few days, Soren realized Ranulf and Skrimir were moving farther southward than the journey here. A few days later, he discovered this was due to the unofficial militia rising in the northern towns (the ones they’d stolen livestock from for two weeks while chasing the Central Army). These people were determined to kill whatever laguz they saw again, and since the Gallians were so badly injured and trying to make such haste, they were actually forced to avoid the angry peasants with pitchforks.

The mercenaries, however, were safe as long as the people didn’t realize they were associated with the laguz invasion. And Soren kept his hood up whenever he entered a town, so his Brand wouldn’t spur their fear and resentment. In these towns, the mercenaries collected rumors of civil unrest. The people whispered about Sephiran, who’d been stripped of his titles as prime minister and head of the senate. Apparently he’d been arrested for treason, but no one seemed to know what he’d done. The common folk debated whether the arrest was some mistake, whether Sephiran probably deserved his sentence, or whether the whole thing was hogwash in the first place. 

When the Begnion citizens realized the strange people listening to their conversations were actually foreign mercenaries, they would grow silent and distrustful. If Tibarn or one of the other hawks landed to speak with the mercenaries, the citizens would realize they were part of the invading army and turn hostile. If enough of the hawks were present to make themselves look like a formidable army, the people would panic and scatter. In this way, the mercenaries would buy or take what they needed and move on. (As per Ike’s instruction, they always left money behind, in cases where scattering took place.)

The Gallians were setting a quick pace despite their injuries, and the mercenaries and hawks only slept a few hours each night in an effort to catch up. Freezing rains were becoming more common each day, especially in the mornings and evenings, but the broken Laguz Alliance kept marching even when soaked to the bone. They couldn’t afford to slow down. Zelgius’s ceasefire had expired over a week ago, and neither Gallia nor Phoenicis had offered to participate in a peace talk. Both the Northern and Central armies would be pursuing them now. It wasn’t a matter of Zelgius losing control; he would run them out of Begnion too.

Eventually they arrived on the Sestohl Plains, soon to reach the Ribahn River. They were nearly to Telgam, and yet it was here that Soren, Ike, Tibarn, and the rest suddenly stopped. A hawk scout was flying fast toward them, and he transformed as soon as his talons touched the ground, running and flailing to expend his momentum.

“My King!” he said to Tibarn, finally coming to a stop, “The Gallian Army is just ahead. They have made camp on the eastern bank!”

“What? Why are they still here?” Tibarn demanded. “They should still be two days ahead of us!”

“They can’t.” The scout shook his head futilely. “They tried to cross the river and were attacked. Many are freshly injured and hundreds are already in the grave—I saw it myself!”

“Get ahold of yourself,” Tibarn ordered. “ _Who_ attacked them?”

“The Daein Army,” the scout answered, his eyes wide and his expression suddenly slack. “The Daein Army is holding the western bank.”


	9. CHAPTER 75: MARSH CROSSING

When they arrived at the Gallian encampment, Ranulf ran to meet them and immediately ushered Ike, Tibarn, Reyson, Titania, and Soren into a yurt while the rest of the mercenaries and hawks were told to get settled.

“So, you must have heard about Daein…” Ranulf pressed his ears back.

“The Daein Army is working with Begnion?” Ike growled. “That’s unexpected to say the least…”

“Why would Daein join the war?” Tibarn asked. “I thought all their resources would be tied up in reconstruction.”

“Yeah, that bothers me too.” Ranulf shook his head weakly. “There’s something weird about all of this. Didn’t Daein resent Begnion’s occupation? Why would they be so quick to help out their former enemy? I…” he trailed off, and not for the first time Soren had the feeling Ranulf was thinking about something troubling and not sharing the matter with the rest of the group.

But before Soren could goad Ranulf into telling everyone what he was thinking, Skrimir pushed his way into the yurt. “Why doesn’t matter,” he declared. “We are running out of time. We must deal with this quickly if we are to get home.”

“General Skrimir!” Ike greeted him. “Have you recovered from your wounds already?” He certainly did look whole and healthy again.

“Yes. Do not underestimate the healing power of the beast tribe,” Skrimir replied, but something about his tone and bearing were more subdued than before.

“Alright, everyone’s here,” Tibarn said, gesturing for them to come together. “Let’s begin this meeting in earnest.”

Ranulf unrolled a map of the river and weighted its corners. “The immediate threat is the Daein Army,” he said, pointing to where estimates of their units and numbers were sketched onto the map. “They’re dug in around the area we have to use to cross the Ribahn. Hm…maybe we can find another spot to cross?” With a sigh, he began shuffling through his other maps, but Soren knew this was futile.

It was spring now, and the majority of the river would be swollen. This marshy region was the only fordable section this far south, and the Central Army was hot on their heels. “No, we can’t afford it,” he said simply. “If we waste any more time, the Central Army will catch up to us. If that happens, we’re dead.”

“Ranulf,” Ike turned to him, “tell me your impression of the Daein Army. Anything special?”

Ranulf didn’t answer immediately. “…Well, there weren’t many of them,” he finally said, “but their morale was really high. Their commander seemed very clever as well.”

“It must be the Maiden of Dawn,” Soren thought aloud. When rumors of Daein’s rebellion had come trickling into Crimea, he’d wondered about this folk hero who’d come from nowhere and risen to the position of Daein’s premier general. But he’d never imagined she would be his enemy.

“Who is that again?” Ike asked, and Soren wasn’t surprised. He had always been more concerned with rumors of the Black Knight than anything else. A modicum of his attention had been spared for Ashnard’s secret heir, but that had left nothing to expend on the mysterious silver-haired maiden.

“She was the hero of Daein’s recent uprising,” Soren explained for his and the laguz’s benefit. “Micaiah is her name, if I recall correctly. Supposedly she has performed healing miracles and used clairvoyance to turn many losing battles into victories. An interesting figure.”

“Miracles?” Ranulf scoffed. “I find that a bit hard to swallow. Are you sure?”

“Who can say?” Soren replied diplomatically. “Personally, I doubt it. All I know is that the Daein Army believes in her, which makes her dangerous. The Maiden of Dawn is supposed to be the savior of Daein, whose miraculous powers freed their people from tyranny. In other words, her followers are fanatics who see her as a goddess. She will make a formidable enemy.”

“If we attack them head-on, the fighting won’t stop until one side is decimated,” Ranulf predicted. “There’s got to be a way to avoid that, right?”

“What about a decoy force, like we’ve used in the past?” Titania proposed optimistically.

“The decoy only works if your opponent doesn’t expect it,” Tibarn argued. “I wouldn’t count on the same strategy working twice.”

“Not necessarily,” Soren replied, deciding not to point out the fact that their most recent decoy strategy hadn’t ‘worked’ at all. “The empire assumes superiority over all other nations. Begnion is only using the Daein Army as a pawn to stop us and likely won’t care if it is destroyed in the process. As such, the Daein Army is most likely uninformed about our past tactics.”

“You might have a point there,” Ranulf agreed, cocking his head. “I went scouting after the fog cleared, and their forces looked really unprepared to fight us. They had no ballistae, and they hadn’t fielded many fire mages. It felt like they didn’t know a thing about fighting laguz.”

“Then we should definitely have a decoy force hit them head-on while the bulk of the army crosses the river,” Soren declared. He pointed to the place on the map where he judged the decoy assault should take place and then gestured to where the armies should cross.

“I’ll head up the decoy force, then,” Ike volunteered. “The armies of Gallia and Phoenicis can cross the river while we fight.”

“I’ll go with you, Ike,” Ranulf added. “Daein would get suspicious if they didn’t see any laguz in the enemy force.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Tibarn agreed. “Take some of my men as well, if you want. I don’t want their talons getting dull.”

“The Laguz Alliance may have lost the war of might,” Ranulf announced proudly, “But we haven’t lost the war to save the lives of our kin! This fight will be ours!”

“Yes!” Skrimir roared with some of his old vigor. “With the fangs and wings of the laguz and knowledge of the beorc, we will return home!”

“Daein cannot stop us now,” Reyson declared in a soft but confident voice, “just as they could not stop us during the Mad King’s War. We can do this.”

“Now about our pay…” Soren said suddenly, surprising everyone.

“Soren!” Titania hissed. “We’re all in this together now. It’s not a matter of a contract!”

“Calm yourself, dame knight,” Tibarn laughed. “The boy is right. The Greil Mercenaries are taking a lot of risk in helping us out. Phoenicis will pay.”

“Gallia too!” Skrimir added.

“That’s all I wanted to hear,” Soren replied coolly, taking out a stylus and scroll of fresh paper. Ike was shaking his head but he was also smiling. For a moment, Soren could almost forget his failure at Castle Gaddos.

While the rest of the army’s leadership departed, Soren asked Ike and Titania to stay. “There is a conflict of interest within the Greil Mercenaries that must be addressed,” he said. “In a worst-case scenario, we will not be able to trust our comrades in the coming battle. On the other hand, if they prove their loyalty, they may give us a unique advantage to destabilize Daein’s morale.”

“What in blazes are you talking about?” Ike asked with one eyebrow raised.

“I believe he is accusing Haar, Ilyana, and Brom of betraying us,” Titania translated indignantly.

“What?” Ike blanched.

“ _Potentially_ betraying us,” Soren countered. “We should track them down immediately to be certain they do not cross the river and alert their friends to our plan. The merchants too.”

“Soren, you’re being paranoid,” Ike scolded.

“I assure you I am not,” Soren replied. “Do you expect Brom to cross blades with his daughter?”

“We have no evidence she is among this particu-” Titania tried to argue, but Soren cut her off:

“Which is why we should have scouts looking for her and Jill specifically,” he said firmly. “Sothe and Tauroneo served as General Micaiah’s right and left hands during the war, did they not? It stands to reason they will be with her now… The Black Knight too, Ike.”

The change that came over him was instantaneous and alarming. A murderous stillness took him, and only his eyes slid to Soren’s. “…I thought the same,” he said, “The moment I heard Daein was here.”

“The Black Knight!” Titania gasped angrily. “But Ike…you cannot best him without Ragnell.”

“I know that,” Ike grimaced.

Soren raised his hands to calm them both (and hopefully coax Ike out of his dark mood). “If we encounter the Black Knight, we must avoid him, even if that means a premature retreat. But I do not believe the Maiden of Dawn will deploy someone so important on the frontlines. Her friends and our mutual acquaintances, on the other hand—those we may expect to see leading the defensive assault.”

“I don’t believe Brom and the others would betray us,” Ike sighed, coming back to himself, “but I don’t want to put him in that situation either.”

“You must meet with him and the others,” Soren advised seriously. “You must convince them to remain loyal.”

“I will,” Ike consented. “But I don’t believe for a moment that they’d waver.”

Soren nodded in acceptance of Ike’s blind trust, hoping it wouldn’t fail him now. After all, it was this unconditional confidence that made people follow him in the first place. “If you determine that you can trust them,” he continued, “then ask them to confront their friends and family on the field of battle and turn them from Daein’s side. If they join us, all the better, but if they merely desert Daein, this will still deal a damaging blow to the enemy’s morale. When the holy maiden’s own friends start deserting her, her soldiers may lose some of their faith.”

Titania grasped her jaw, frowning into her hand. “I suppose that is true,” he mumbled between her fingers.

“I will ask them to do it,” Ike said, “but if they refuse, I won’t force them to fight anywhere near their loved ones.”

“And I will speak to Ranulf and his scouts,” Titania offered. “We may be able to determine which of these ‘mutual acquaintances’ may be present.”

“I am glad you can see reason,” Soren said by way of thanks. This made Ike grimace and Titania scowl.

The next morning, the night’s drizzle faded to a miserable fog, but it was the perfect opportunity to launch their attack. The Gallian Army left their yurts, carts, and the majority of their supplies behind so they could cross the river as quietly and nimbly as possible. (At the point of crossing, the water in the middle of the river was high enough to reach a cat laguz’s neck, which meant the lighter the better.)

Meanwhile, Ike’s regiment would strike Daein while it still appeared the entire Laguz Alliance was behind him. In truth, however, only fifty-two people comprised this decoy vanguard. In addition to the seventeen mercenaries (including Reyson, whom Ike had offered a temporary contract back at Seliora Castle), Ranulf was joining them with ten tigers, ten cats, and a pair of lions. Tibarn had also spared twelve hawks.

The Daein force, on the other hand, numbered over eight hundred if they coalesced as Soren predicted. Drawing away the troops to the south would allow the laguz to cross secretly, but if soldiers came from the north as well (from a post slightly farther away), the decoy force could be facing five hundred more.

Either way, they had to be extremely careful. Soren’s plan would only work if Ike’s regiment kept the fighting confined to the middle of the marsh, where mobility was greatly decreased by the tangled roots, mudholes, stagnant pools, and trickling streams. Soren had chosen this place because the river ran relatively deep and clear for over a mile on either side. The Daein troops wouldn’t be able to surround them (or at least, not easily). Whatever happened, the main army would have to cross quickly, and the decoy regiment just had to stay alive and keep up the ruse until then.

When they arrived, Ranulf stuck his nose to the air and waited silently for several moments. “Sothe is on the other side,” he said, “with General Micaiah.” He shook his feline head. “You know, I did tell them to leave.”

Ike patted his haunches sympathetically. “It’s time. Shall we?”

Ranulf didn’t seem to hear him. “If those two are still here...” His head hung low. “So much for friendly advice, I guess. Now it’s friends against friends…” He closed his eyes. “Things are getting crazy around here.”

“That may be,” Ike agreed, “But all we can do is fight. We may fight our friends, but we fight for our friends too. We are not in the wrong.”

Soren wondered if he was simply putting on a brave face. Friendship was important to Ike; it always had been. Surely this battle was not as easy for him as he pretended.

“Hit them hard, men!” Ike called when they first set foot on the soggy marsh grass. “Push through! We’re going home to Gallia!” Soren thought the statement might be overkill, but it couldn’t hurt to reinforce the illusion.

Dracoknight criers were already signaling the arrival of the vanguard to the ranks farther back, and Soren heard their voices and saw their shadows above. He conjured a Thunder spell to spook the nearest one, and at the same moment, the first line of Daein guardsmen rushed forward to engage the mercenaries.

A minute later, a dracoknight advance appeared in response to the scouts’ cries. The wave of shadows was clearly visible in the mist, and Soren began conjuring one Elthunder spell after another. Ilyana was beside him, doing the same. Her expression was grimmer than usual, and Soren wondered if she was worried one of the wyverns overhead could be Jill’s. As it was now, they couldn’t see the color of the creatures’ scales.

Haar and the hawks clashed with the dracoknight advance, and Soren and Ilyana paused their onslaught so they wouldn’t harm their allies. But he did keep his attention on the skies, in case any of the wyverns tried to slip away from the fight and scout east. If they did, they would discover no army there, and the plan would be ruined.

“*Spirits of lightning, follow my hand. Fry their flesh*,” Soren incanted as soon as he saw a shadow break away. It struck true, and a wyvern crashed into the water—red scales, not Jill. Shinon stuck an arrow through the rider’s heart before she or her beast could recover.

Two shadows were approaching from the east, and Soren feared a couple of scouts had made it around. If so, he would make them regret coming back this way. He incanted another Elthunder spell, but before the shadows came into range, Soren realized they were laguz: Janaff and Ulki. He quickly redirected his spell into a nearby Daein axman instead.

“Ulki! What are you doing here?” Ike called when the hawk-man came into view.

“Orders of the king,” Ulki replied, and Janaff descended beside him. “We are here to assist you.”

“Oh, I get it,” Ike laughed. “You’re here to guard Reyson.” At his name, the heron flapped in place and turned his attention to the newcomers. But just then, a Daein archer shot at him, and he had to dart away to avoid her attack. Soren took it upon himself to eliminate the archer when she tried to pursue.

“Shh! Ike, please!” Ulki whispered. “I cannot let the prince hear about this! Please pretend that I’m only here to assist you, I beg you.”

“Sure, that’s fine with me.” Ike waved his hand casually. “Whatever your reasons, I appreciate the help. Thanks!” A Daein spearman was charging at him, but the man tripped on a root, and Ike chopped off his head as he fell.

“Don’t mention it,” Ulki replied, and he and Janaff both transformed. Ulki flew off in the direction Reyson had disappeared while Janaff plunged his talons into the eyes of a Daein swordsman.

Soren returned his attention to the skies, sending another Elthunder spell into a shadow he was reasonably certain was a dracoknight (and not Haar). Again it fell to the ground, and again Soren was relieved to see the red scales. He and Jill were not particularly close, and yet he dreaded meeting her or any former comrade in this marsh.

The mercenaries pushed forward until they were in the middle of the river, and here they lingered, letting the Daein soldiers come to them. Before long, the fateful moment arrived.

“Zihark!” came Mia’s scream. “Face me you coward!” These were not unfamiliar words from her mouth—Mia was always demanding friends and foes alike to fight her. But never before had Soren heard such pain in her challenge.

He moved toward her shout, oddly desperate to see who would win. “I’m sorry,” came Zihark’s solemn reply. “I didn’t want us to meet again like this. Forgive me.”

Mia’s reply was a wordless scream as she swept her sword down in a first strike. Zihark blocked with his own sword, and they struggled for leverage until Mia broke away. She struck again, and again, and Zihark blocked and parried. Soren didn’t intervene, but he did use wind and fire magic to keep other soldiers from coming to Zihark’s aid. As he did, he watched the match and found himself recalling the hundreds of times he’d seen them spar during the Mad King’s War. The energy was entirely different now.

When Mia finally had an opening to strike at his neck, her sword stopped before she could draw blood. Zihark reacted instantly, disarming her and cutting her hand. By the shock on his face, Soren could tell he regretted it.

Mia’s eyes were filled with hurt and fury, and she reached for her sword with her good hand. Zihark lunged to stop her, but then Ike was there, sending his fist and all of his momentum into Zihark’s face. His sword was safely sheathed on his back, but as soon as he regained his footing, he started pummeling him. “Get out of here, Zihark!” Ike growled before throwing a left hook. “Retreat, and tell your general to leave too!”

The swordsman refused to drop his sword. He tried to fight back, but Ike dodged each strike or blocked it with his gauntlets. He got a few more hits in before Zihark fell to the one knee. His eyes and cheeks were starting to swell, and blood trickled out of his nose and mouth. “The Greil Mercedaries,” he panted, “you really are here...” He gazed up at Ike as if looking for forgiveness. “There’s do way we cad wid this,” he consented, pulling himself to his feet. He stowed his sword and started backing up. “Sorry guys,” he told the soldiers nearby, pinching his broken nose. “I’b turding back for dow… I really sug’est you all retreat as’well.” With that, he jogged lopsidedly away.

Ignoring his recommendation, the surrounding Daeins roared and fought harder. Ike drew his sword and met them. Mia fended off her attackers with her non-dominant hand while she slowly retreated (surely to find Mist or Rhys). Soren continued to incant his spells, now dividing his attention between the skies and ground since most of the dracoknights had already been eliminated or were well within Haar and the hawks’ control. 

After a few minutes, Ilyana suddenly stopped chanting beside him. She was staring at someone she seemed to recognize, although Soren didn’t know the person. She was a young woman with short black hair, and she was currently healing a Daein lance night.

“Laura, what are you doing on the frontlines?” Ilyana asked as if in shock. 

The woman—Laura—glared back defiantly and didn’t let her staff’s green light fade. “This man is burned,” she replied. “Did you do this?”

Ilyana faltered, her mouth hanging open.

“Actually that was me,” Soren stepped in. “*Spirits of wind, slash the flesh before me.*” He shot a simple Wind spell, because he judged that was all it would take to defeat this unarmored, unarmed girl.

Rather than avoiding the attack, she covered the soldier with her own body. The blades of wind tore into her side and arm, instantly pulling her off him and tossing her into the mud. Ilyana didn’t move or say a thing. She had her tome in hand, but her arms were hanging limp at her side.

“Oh no, is this…blood?” Laura touched a hand to her side, and it came away red and brown. Soren imagined it had to sting. “I’m sorry, Lady Micaiah,” she murmured to herself, her face going pale. She picked herself up, using her staff for support. “I must heal my wounds…”

“Laura!” Ilyana cried, but after taking a single step, she faltered.

Soren had an Elfire spell prepared to finish the woman off, but seeing Ilyana’s face now, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He cast it at the injured knight instead, and soon his skin was smoldering within his armor.

There were plenty of soldiers to fight in the mist, and Soren turned his frustration on them instead of the retreating healer. The Wind and Elwind spells he cast cut through flesh, armor, and fog alike, and suddenly, in a gap in the mist, Soren saw something that turned his blood cold: the Black Knight was standing at the water’s edge, staring at the ongoing battle as if he could see it all perfectly. As always, his face was covered by his helmet, but it and his armor had obviously been cracked and repaired. Beside him stood a woman with bright, silver-white hair.

The fog swallowed them again, and Soren found himself walking backward. He hoped Ike wasn’t nearby; he hoped he hadn’t seen. He cast out his senses and found him immediately—he was close. Soren tried to calm his mind, telling himself that the Black Knight was still waiting on shore, that he hadn’t taken to the battlefield. But that could soon change.

Not watching where he was going, Soren’s foot sank into a mud puddle, and he fell. At that same moment, a Daein swordsman saw him. The man’s face split into a grin when he realized the helplessness of his prey, and he struck down. Soren threw up one hand in a lame attempt to block the blow, while his other hand descended to catch his fall.

The blade sliced into his wrist, and he hit the ground. The cut was deep, and Soren immediately felt as if his hand were gone. It was a surreal feeling—and full of pain. Seizing his bleeding wrist with his other hand, he pulled it into his chest. Arcing his back into the ground, he bit back a scream.

Above him, the swordsman was raising the sword for a finishing blow. Soren struggled to say the ancient words he knew so well, aware that he’d dropped his tome during the strike. It wasn’t far. He could still use it if he was quick enough.

But then Ike was there, catching the blow on his own sword and knocking the hilt back into the surprised soldier’s face. A couple of quick strikes later, the man was dead and Ike was kneeling over Soren. “That doesn’t look good,” he said, sheathing his sword and wasting no time seized the knife from Soren’s belt. Reaching behind his head, he used it to start a tear in his cape, cutting a long strip to use as a bandage.

Then he prised Soren’s fingers off the wound, causing the injured hand to flop away from the wrist in a way that nearly made Soren faint. He had been injured many times, but he’d never been this close to losing a limb. No amount of healing could regrow what was completely severed. He would become like Largo: pitied and useless.

“You’ll be fine,” Ike assured, as if reading his mind. He finishing tying the cloth, which was already turning a deeper shade of red. Soren knew the ulnar artery had been severed, and apparently so did Ike. Pulling the band off his head, he tied it tightly around Soren’s forearm to help stem the flow. Soren wondered, dimly, if the only reason Ike wore the headpiece was to use it as a tourniquet.

“Can you walk?” he demanded, shaking Soren’s shoulder. Then, without waiting for a reply, he picked him up and set him on his feet.

Finally finding his tongue, the words that came out of Soren’s mouth weren’t the ones he wanted: “The Black Knight…” he murmured, staring past Ike’s shoulder at the mist occluding the far shore. He didn’t want Ike to know the Black Knight was here, and yet he felt obligated to tell him. The knight felt like the explanation behind his pain and sudden weakness. Saying the words felt like they would help.

But they didn’t. Ike followed his gaze, and for a moment, Soren thought he was about the charge through the marsh to meet the Black Knight head on—holy sword or no holy sword. But then he just shook his head and started pulling Soren so they were both shambling away from the frontlines. “We’ll be able to retreat soon,” he said, “We just need to hold on a little longer.”

Eventually they arrived at the back of the regiment, where Rhys was currently healing a stab wound in Titania’s shoulder. “How fares the battle?” she asked.

“We’re holding them,” Ike replied quickly. “Rhys, when you’re done. Soren’s hand is pretty messed up.” Holding Soren steady with one arm, he used the other to brush his cloak away. He returned the dagger to its sheath and slid his tome into its holster.

Soren jolted in surprise—he hadn’t realized Ike had picked up the spell book. The mist around him seemed to be growing denser, but he knew it was actually his vision fading. The blood had soaked through Ike’s cape and was now dripping onto his feet. He was watching the falling drops when the ground suddenly surged toward him. He would have fallen if Ike hadn’t braced him with both hands. “Hey!” he said, his tone almost scolding. Soren tried to get his feet back under him.

“He’s losing too much blood,” Rhys said, and the light of his staff faded. “Sorry, Titania.”

“I’ll be fine,” she promised, standing up.

Just then, Janaff dropped out of the sky in front of them. “Ike! Word from the King—the main force has crossed the river. We did it!”

“Excellent.” Ike grinned. Handing Soren’s weight to Janaff in a way that made Soren feel more like an object than a person, he turned around and cupped his mouth in his hands. “Everyone!” he shouted into the fog, “Let’s meet up with the main force!”

The stamp of feet through mud and moss was instantly audible, as the whole regiment turned and fled at the same time. Ike snatched Soren back from Janaff, and he felt ridiculous for being unable to stand without help. The blood from his wrist was now soaked into his chest, where he held it tightly clamped. “Hold on, Soren,” Ike whispered, “We’re getting out of here.” They were both running now (or rather, Ike was running and carrying most of Soren’s weight while he struggled to move his feet, even a little bit).

When they got to the edge of the marsh, Soren smelled oil and saw a fire leap to life behind them. His vision was blurry and narrow. Ike threw him unceremoniously into one of the boats and sat Rhys forcefully beside him. Titania leapt in, and after her came some other mercenaries whose faces swam when Soren tried to look at them. He looked up at the sky instead. The clouds and fog were clearing, and he could see scraps of blue behind the shreds of white and gray. Then he saw the hawks dive down, seizing the lead ropes. The boat started moving at the same time Rhys finally unwrapped his wrist. Still afraid he would lose it, Soren continued to stare at the sky instead.

Once they’d gotten far enough downstream that the Daein Army couldn’t pursue them, the boats butted against the shore, and everyone unloaded. Soren tried to move his fingers and found they were slow to respond. “It will take a while for you to fully recover,” Rhys said, stepping out of the boat. “But I promise you will get full feeling back in time.”

Soren didn’t respond at first, but he supposed he should be grateful to Rhys for saving his hand. “Thank you,” he said stiffly. Rhys smiled and reached to help him out of the boat, but Soren didn’t take his arm. Although he was still dizzy, he had regained consciousness enough for this. His head swam when he stepped onto solid ground, but he focused his vision on a single tree in the distance until his balance steadied.

“The Gallian Army isn’t far!” Ike announced, “Let’s catch up and show Daein what we’re really made of!”

More than half the group ran north with Ike and Ranulf, but Soren walked. Soon the Gallian and Phoenician armies came into view. Soren climbed to the top of the nearest hill. He was done fighting for the day, but he wanted to see Daein retreat.

Despite the fact that many laguz were still injured, those still able to fight surged to the front, roaring ferociously while the others merely jogged in the back in their unshifted forms. It was an effective display, and in the distance, Soren could already see the Daein Army seething away in fear. The mass of black-armored soldiers grew smaller and smaller, and the laguz horde pulled to a halt by the time they reached the track of ground that had been Daein’s main camp.

With a sigh, Soren started down the hill again. Ike and the others who’d wanted to rejoin the main force hadn’t made it in time, and their charge had fizzled to a standstill before they’d even gotten close. Suddenly everyone seemed to realize their exhaustion from the battle, and some sat in the grass while others pressed their hands to their knees, panting.

For the first time, Soren noticed Jill’s green wyvern flying with Haar’s black one, and they both landed now. Teetering at the edge of consciousness during the escape, he hadn’t even realized she’d joined them. But he was glad she had. 

Looking around, Soren took stock of the other people who’d been too injured or otherwise uninclined to join Ike’s fruitless charge. Oscar was limping along, and Mist was lending her shoulder to Heather, who had a bandage wrapped around her head. Brom was walking with a jaunt in his step, despite also wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. Soren wondered if he’d met his daughter in the marsh, and curiosity drew him closer.

“I’m so proud of her,” Brom expounded to the laguz walking beside him. “Did’ya see her swing? The arms of a goddess, I tell you!”

The tiger gritted his teeth and pushed back his ears as if wishing he could escape Brom’s companionship. But his leg was clearly injured, so he was forced to limp along with the ax knight. Soren pulled away before he could be sucked into the same conversation.

When this little group reunited with Ike and the others, the young commander rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Well, Daein get’s the idea.”

“They will retreat north until Begnion gives them new orders,” Soren predicted. “It is possible they too will begin pursuing us now. But it is still the Central Army that we must fear. This delay cost the laguz several precious days, and thanks to Daein’s ambush, even more are injured than before. We must make haste for Gallia.”

Ike nodded firmly. “We’ll make it,” he said, then adding, “I’m glad to see you’re on your feet. You had me worried for a second. How’s your hand?”

Soren raised his arm and tried to touch his thumb to his pinky. His fingers twitched and missed once before making the connection. “Still attached,” he finally said, “The median nerve was severed, but Rhys says it will heal in time.”

He was lowering his hand again when Ike suddenly caught it like a delicate butterfly. His hands were gentle, but his touch was a cage. The slight pressure of his fingertips caused Soren’s entire body to freeze. “Can you feel this?” he asked.

Soren gave a quiver of a nod. “Mostly. Some parts are still numb.”

Ike adjusted his grip on Soren’s slack fingers (and what must be a clammy palm by now). Embarrassed, Soren wished Ike would let go. “Here?” he asked.

Soren tried to move his pinky finger under Ike’s touch, but the last three fingers barely obeyed him, only giving the slightly twitch. “Not very much,” he replied, half-hoping Ike would move his touch back to the part of his hand that he could actually feel. Even rough, even filthy with sweat and dirt, and even with blood drying around his fingernails—Soren loved those hands. 

Ike nodded and let go. “Good thing you’re not a swordsman. I’d be in trouble if I couldn’t use my hand for even a day!”

Soren shrugged. “I suppose that is true. As long as I have my voice, I can fight.”

“And your spell tome,” Ike said pointedly, glancing at where it was now safely holstered. “You almost left that behind, you know.”

“I was a little distracted,” Soren answered, rolling his wrist meaningfully.

Ike narrowed his eyes. “I think you were distracted in the first place,” he teased, “Otherwise you wouldn’t have let some random soldier almost cut your hand off.”

“I didn’t _let_ -” Soren tried to argue.

“You said you saw the Black Knight.” Ike’s teasing tone was gone. Apparently he was done beating around the bush.

“Yes, I did.”

“How did he…look?” There was an undercurrent of frustration in his voice.

“The same as he did during the Mad King’s War, I assume,” Soren replied. “Although I only saw him for a moment back then. His armor has clearly been repaired, but I would assume the enchantment on it is still in effect.”

Ike glared at the ground, offering no response. Soren didn’t know what he expected him to say. He already knew how he felt about the Black Knight. And, per Ike’s orders, they weren’t supposed to rehash the same debate.

“Thank you for not leaving me to go fight him,” Soren eventually said, surprised that the words had actually slipped out of his mouth.

But now Ike looked surprised. “I’d never do that,” he assured. Then he pushed his hand through his equally dirty hair and sighed. “Look, your life is more important to me than his death, okay?”

Soren’s throat closed, not allowing him to reply, so he merely shook his head. What Ike claimed may be true, but for a moment, that decision hadn’t been easy for him to make. Soren had seen the hunger in his eyes, his craving to duel the Black Knight. That had been the real reason Soren had been careless—not because he feared the knight, but because he feared what would happen to Ike if they fought again.


	10. CHAPTER 76: THE KAUKU CAVES

The retreating laguz cut through southern Telgam and easily crossed Cain River (Miscale’s other tributary). They were entering the smaller western holds now. But they were already south of Mugill, latitudinally speaking, and their current trajectory had them entering the Serenes Forest.

“Are laguz truly too stupid to read a map?” Soren goaded Ranulf one day, finding him adjusting one such map with the most recent scouting reports. “We’re going too far south.”

He glared back. “We’re going the right way.”

“Where are you leading us, Ranulf?” he growled, refusing to accept another deflection or excuse like he, Kyza, and Skrimir had been making all week.

Fortunately Ranulf seemed to realize this and gave in. “It is a secret passage,” he whispered, “alright?”

“Into Gallia?” Soren mulled his surprise. “You know another way through the mountains… Why has no one mentioned this before?”

“It’s a _secret_ ,” Ranulf hissed back. “We can’t afford Begnion ever finding out about it.”

Soren narrowed his eyes. “Begnion will certainly find out about it, if we lead them straight there.”

Ranulf growled under his breath. “Don’t you think I know that? We need to put more distance between us and the Central Army before we arrive.”

Soren considered this and nodded. “If we can pull ahead, yours is a sound plan. We cannot be certain Mugill has not already returned to Begnion’s grasp. Crossing there could be dangerous.”

“Exactly.” Ranulf returned his attention to the map. “Hence the secret passage.”

Soren knelt opposite him. “Show me where it is. I can help chart a course.”

Ranulf glanced up, and his mismatched eyes seemed to contemplate Soren for a second. “Alright,” he finally gave in, “but you can’t tell anyone else about this!”

“I will tell Ike and no one else,” Soren replied honestly.

“Fine,” Ranulf groaned, apparently finding this acceptable.

The pair spent the next hour or so planning tomorrow’s route. Soren hadn’t been able to write reports since the injury to his hand at the Ribahn, and he still had difficulty holding a stylus. But as long as Ranulf was doing the writing, he could be useful.

The Gallian and Phoenician armies pushed through the northern section of the Serenes Forest. The barrier range was fast approaching, but pulling away from Zelgius was proving even harder than predicted. Each day, no matter how they pushed themselves or how little they slept at night, the hawk scouts always returned saying the Central Army was right behind them.

With less than a week left, the days ticked by, and Soren tried to think of ways they could escape without using Ranulf’s secret passage. He asked Reyson about any fortifications or hiding places in the Serenes, but he said there were none. (Soren believed him, because if there were, surely more herons would have survived the massacre twenty-seven years ago.) In the end, it seemed his only hope was a network of caves with an entrance nearby, and he held onto that hope.

Eventually, the day came when they would either turn toward Ranulf’s secret passage, or they would not. Everyone waited tensely for Janaff and Ulki to return from their scouting mission. “How are we doing for time, Janaff?” Tibarn asked, when the bird-men finally reappeared.

“They’re gaining on us,” Janaff admitted. “Their lead force is about…let’s say…one day off?” he winced at his own words, knowing what they meant.

“You’ve got to be kidding!” Ranulf growled, throwing his hands in the air. “How did they cover so much ground since yesterday?”

“They’re definitely moving faster than we expected,” Ike agreed, not quite as hopeless as Ranulf. “At this rate, they’ll catch us. Any ideas?” He turned to Soren, who wondered for a moment if the only reason he wasn’t as distraught as the others was because he trusted Soren would have a solution

“With the enemy closing in so quickly, it would be unwise to use the secret passage,” he began, meeting Ranulf’s gaze. “If Begnion found it, it would give them an open invitation to surge across Gallia. Your people would not be pleased.”

Ranulf looked oddly grateful for his sympathy. “We can’t expose our country to that danger. We have to think of something else,” he pleaded.

“Well, we can’t start a fight in the Serenes Forest,” Ike said firmly, glancing at Reyson. “Not only is the terrain disadvantageous, but the forest isn’t even fully healed. We can’t risk burning it down again. Soren, any ideas?”

“Our options are profoundly limited, Ike,” Soren said seriously, but he did have a potential solution, so he gave it: “It appears our only other choice is the caves up ahead.” Withdrawing one of Ranulf’s maps, Soren knelt and pressed it against the ground.

“Caves?” Ranulf repeated in confusion. But when he saw Soren pointing to them, his expression changed to one of recognition and rejection: “Yeah, those are the Kauku Caves. We do not want to go there. It’s a complex maze, full of lava and ash. Not exactly a place you’d want to rest.”

“But the legends, Ranulf,” Skrimir countered in a surprisingly soft voice.

“Legends?” Soren repeated.

Ranulf frowned up at the leafy canopy as if he did not want to tell the story. “The legends say that, through the caves, there’s one exit that leads to Goldoa and another exit that leads to Gallia,” he admitted. But then he dropped his gaze to meet Soren’s eye. “But no matter what the legends say, the fact is that it’s suicide to go in there! We don’t even have a map!”

“If there is a tunnel that leads to Gallia we must find it and take it,” Soren declared, wishing he’d known about the legend from the start. “It is the obvious choice.”

“The more you hens carry on,” Ulki suddenly cut in, “the closer the enemy advances. For every minute we spend here, they become _less_ than a day away.”

This rare outburst from the usually reticent hawk left everyone looking chastised. Soren seized the moment to conclude his argument: “If the enemy catches up to us in this forest, we will certainly die. The caves are known to be dangerous, so Begnion may not pursue. Even the most formidable natural hazard isn’t as deadly as an intelligent, living enemy. We must go to the caves. Now.”

“Alright, Soren,” Ike said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “I trust you.” Then he turned to everyone else, declaring, “I say we move out for the caves!”

“I will go,” Skrimir agreed. “I trust we will find our way home.”

“My kind don’t like going underground, but it beats dying,” Tibarn conceded, “We’ll come too.”

“Fine,” Ranulf gave in with a tiny, stressed sigh. “We can go into the suicide caves.”

They proceeded into the cave’s gaping mouth with enough food, water, and torches to last three days if rationed, and Soren hoped that would be enough. If a large number of the injured laguz succumbed to infection or died in some sort of accident, then the food and water would last longer. But Soren was fairly certain he didn’t want that to happen.

The caves led deep underground, and before long, the army was marching through what appeared to be lava tubes. They walked in constant dimness, with only a couple torches lit, and relied on the beast laguz’s keen eyesight to guide them away from danger. When the tunnel split or an offshoot was discovered, leading either up or down, they stopped and sent scouts ahead to help decide which way to go. However, if neither tunnel was blocked, they chose at random.

At one point their tunnel came to an abrupt end, despite scouting, and they had choice but to backtrack for hours. At another time, the tunnel narrowed such that the merchants’ horses couldn’t get through, and Soren and Ranulf decided to backtrack again. They’d already abandoned the wagons, and the horses carried most of the food and water.

By the end of the day, the air grew hot and acrid, and the tunnel they were following opened onto a river of slow-moving lava. The air was difficult to breathe and stung Soren’s eyes. Everywhere people started coughing. “This way!” Ranulf called, shielding his face from the heat. He led them along a path beside the river.

Soren plodded along, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve. He squinted through the hazy air, and it was then that he noticed the stairs. A tunnel was leading upward, but unlike the lava tubes or natural crevasses they’d walked through so far, this had clearly been cut by human hands. Walking toward it as if in a trance, Soren examined the perfectly carved steps. Others gathered around too, and some whispered amongst themselves, wondering who could have built such a thing so deep in the mountain. However, the stairs were blocked by a cave-in after only thirty steps. Soren came back down and shook his head at Ranulf’s questioning gaze.

“We’ll keep going this way,” he said in response, and the army trudged on in the heat.

An hour later, a laguz who had lost a foot and was walking with the help of a crutch wandered too close to the lava and fell in. He died relatively quickly, but his screaming had a grim effect on the rest of the troops. “Stay away from the edge,” Ranulf ordered, but otherwise, they were silent.

When they came to a cavern with slightly clearer air and no immediate lava, they could finally rest for the night. Although there was no way to see the sky or accurately judge time, Soren’s internal clock and the number of torches they’d already exhausted were evidence enough that it must be late at night, if not almost dawn.

Everyone was exhausted, and many fell asleep on the rocky ground. Mist and Rhys had no usable Heal or Mend staves anymore, but they still tended the injured soldiers, changing bandages and bringing them their rations of water. They gave dry herbal poultices to those who needed them most, and for others they merely knelt at their side to comfort them.

Ike watched his sister work in the gloom, and as Soren watched him in turn, he found himself praying they would make it out of these caves alive. He didn’t usually think about Ashera, and he was not sure he believed there were divine forces in this world beyond anyone’s control, let alone that they could be swayed by the unspoken begging of mortals. But his mind asked for it anyway: _Please, don’t let us die here._

His silent prayers were interrupted by Ranulf, Tibarn, and Ulki approaching. Ike turned his attention to them. “Bad news,” Tibarn said, “Ulki has heard voices behind us. Begnion followed us inside after all.”

“Well, I’ll be damned if they aren’t persistent,” Ranulf spat.

“What should we do?” Ike asked, and his gaze naturally moved to Soren.

“There is nothing we can do except keep moving forward,” he replied. “Perhaps they will become lost and die, or perhaps they will turn back. If they catch up to us, we will be forced to fight, but I imagine it is only a small, token force that the Central Army has sent after us. They are pursuing us to make a point, that is all.”

“That makes sense,” Ranulf agreed, sounding relieved.

“I will continue to monitor their progress,” Ulki said simply.

With that, everyone went their separate ways to rest. Soren saw Ulki and Janaff take their positions sleeping near Tibarn, who settled down with a rock for a pillow. Many of his other hawk soldiers slept in a circle around him, and Reyson took his customary place behind Tibarn, using his wings as a blanket while he cupped the king’s back. Tibarn, in turn had Reyson’s arm draped over his side, and it appeared the only blanket he needed. (Not for the first time, Soren wondered about the nature of their relationship.)

In another part of the room, Skrimir was already snoring with his friends curled up around him. Ranulf found an empty spot near his feet. Lethe and Lyre were sleeping nearby, and Kyza slept flat on his back with his hands clasped across his chest. However, when Ranulf settled down, he turned his head and whispered something that sounded uncharacteristically gentle—some word of comfort or consolation that Soren couldn’t quite make out. Ranulf sighed and replied in kind.

Near the horses, the mercenaries and merchants were settling down together. Jorge and Daniel were leaning shoulder-to-shoulder with their backs against an exhausted mare. Oscar and Rolf were lying nearby. Haar and Jill were nestled in a cradle made by their wyvern’s forelegs, with the creatures’ heads snoozing in their laps. Ilyana and Aimee were lying back-to-back, and at their feet Heather was sleeping, using Nephenee’s stomach as a pillow. The farmer absently brushed the thief’s hair with her fingers, while staring at the ceiling. Boyd appeared in the gloom behind them, carrying Mist’s unconscious body away from where the injured laguz were huddled. He stroked her arm—all the way from the top of her shoulder to the middle knuckle on the back of her hand—while passing her to Ike, who carried her away and gently laid her down with one of the few remaining blankets. He slept beside her, while Boyd joined his brothers.

Soren cast his eyes over everyone a second time before finding his own corner of ash-dusted stone to lie down on. He didn’t want to be the death of these people, and this thought made it hard to sleep. But, pulling his cloak tighter around him, he eventually slipped into unconsciousness.

On the second day, the army marched through more lava tubes and caverns. They even encountered a large lava lake whose heat and toxic fumes were overwhelming. The remnants of a crumbling stone bridge protruded above the magma, and Soren spotted an archway in the distant wall. But there was no way to get over there, and even if they did, there was no reason to believe that doorway would lead anywhere useful.

The vestiges of architecture did confirm one thing, however: people—either laguz or beorc—had once travelled here. To some of the soldiers and mercenaries, this was a comforting thought. To them, this indicated that the tunnels had to lead somewhere, and they hoped they would find a way out. But Soren came to a different conclusion. If people had once come here but no longer did, it was probably due to subterranean eruptions destroying the original passages. It was quite possible the legendary outlet to Gallia that Skrimir and Ranulf spoke of was just a remnant of a bygone era. Soren wondered if he’d been a fool to make them come this way.

As the hours passed, their torchlight revealed beautifully carved stone pillars rising out of sight in tall caverns or poking out of cooled lava flows, in which they were now embedded. Ornately engraved arches and doorways led to stone blockages or impassable piles of rocks. Sometimes they were themselves half-eaten by a round, black whorl of rock that had once been hot magma. Toward the end of the day, when looking for a place to camp, the scouts found caves full of poisonous gas. A couple hawks suffocated to death, and a few other laguz passed out before their comrades could drag them to safety.

When they finally found a relatively safe place to sleep, it was in a long rectangular room. The light of their torches bounced off a crystalline ceiling covered in pink and blue stalactites. However, Soren considered this a room, not a cave, because it had clearly been molded into a livable space by human hands. The strongest indication of this was the grand fresco painted on the left wall, surrounded by a lengthy inscription.

Although it was hard to tell in the darkness (and with centuries of volcanic ash covering the images), the fresco seemed to depict laguz. But these laguz were stylized in a unique way. Although they walked on two legs, the beasts wore fur on most of their bodies, not just their ears and tails. The bird-men were similarly covered in feathers, and a third people were covered with scales and had lizard-like tails. The laguz in the painting seemed to be dancing, playing, and juggling as they gathered around some sort of white-and-gold, humanoid being at the center. Soren assumed this was Ashera.

He stared at the mural for a while, and he wasn’t the only one. Since Reyson stood beside him, Soren asked if he could read the words, but the prince shook his head.

“Very little,” he answered, “It is a lost dialect. Back in Serenes, some of our scholars once studied ancient texts written thusly… But anyone with the ability to understand it is dead now.”

Soren turned back to the mural and strange writing. Most of the letters looked familiar, like the ancient script and runes he knew so well, but he couldn’t understand any of it. He found himself feeling oddly disappointed that the wall might remain a mystery forever.

On the third day, their supply of water was running low, and Soren’s throat was always parched. His tongue and lips were dry, and he found himself too distracted by his thirst to appreciate the sporadically awe-inspiring architecture lost among lava and rock. As the day wore on, the ground steadily moved upward. Soren’s legs ached, but he dared to hope this meant they were finally close to getting out. By now they were totally lost. There was no turning back, even if they had enough food or water to reach Begnion.

As the hours passed, they left the lava and heat behind in exchange for relatively cool crystal caverns. The ground was covered in stalagmites, juts of sharp stone, and crystal formations. Anyone who tripped ended up with deep scratches on their arms, hands, and knees. The beorc who owned armor donned it now, and the hawks who could still fly tried to stay in the air. The rest of the army moved carefully, as if walking through a river of shattered glass.

But move they did, because some of the laguz reported hearing running water in the distance. Eventually they made it to a place where ice-cold water cascaded through a hole in the ceiling, and everyone rejoiced. Continuing further, they came to a stream, and this led to a massive underwater lake. Although Soren wondered if the mineral water would be poisonous, a few laguz tasted it and reported it safe. After that, no one held back, and everyone laughed and drank their fill.

Some of the hawks spotted small, translucent fish in the lake and caught what they could. Because they didn’t have enough fuel for a fire, they were forced to eat them raw. But even so, those without a fish glared jealously at those whose teeth sunk into the gooey strips of white flesh. Soren was content with his tiny ration of hardtack for now, but he knew no one would survive much longer without finding more food.

Once they’d refilled their canteens and water bladders, the army moved on, following the shore of the placid lake. In the next cavern, everyone became filled with excitement again, because they smelled fresh air and saw daylight. They surged ahead, but when they arrived, morale plummeted. The sunlight and cold air were merely coming from a hole far in the roof of the cavern. Tibarn and a couple hawks flew all the way to the top, but when they returned, they said there was nothing but snow, ice, and mountain cliffs beyond. There was no indication they were nearing Gallia, and there was nothing edible they could bring back with them.

“We’ll just have to keep moving then,” Ranulf said. “A couple more hours!” he called to the troops, “Then we can rest!” The tired, hungry laguz grumbled but obeyed. Everyone was subdued and obedient in their hopelessness.

On the fourth day, they ran out of food. “We must be nearly there!” Ranulf consoled his soldiers, and Skrimir, Tibarn, and Ike did their best to convey the same calming message: they hadn’t seen any lava in a day so they must be nearing an exit. Soren wished he could bring himself to believe it.

The air freshened again, but this time the troops didn’t get their hopes up, aware that it could be another crack letting in sunlight but too far out of reach to offer any chance of freedom. What they found was a huge cavern lit by bioluminescent mosses and fungi and crawling with dark, wet plant matter. They replenished their water here, but no one trusted the unfamiliar plants and fungi enough to eat them.

An hour later, the ground dipped down again, and they passed through a dark cavern full of glowing silkworms. The army tried to disturb as few of the bright blue threads as possible as they walked single-file to the other side.

Here they came to another place full of human-carved architecture. Following a squarish tunnel, they arrived in a wide room with enormous furnaces, long gone cold. This foundry had many branching tubes leading from it, and scouts explored them, returning to report that they were mining tunnels rich with ore. Since it was unlikely that a mine would have an outlet to Gallia, the army left the forge behind and tried to find another route.

The discovery of these rooms and halls revealed that an entire city had once been built into the interior of the Ertz Mountains—not just a set of passages ancient people had used to get from one nation to the other. Soren had suspected this after seeing the fresco the other day, but it was still incredible to see that civilization had once flourished in so desolate a place.

He wondered what had happened to the people who’d lived here. The first explanation that came to mind was that their demise matched the rest of the world beyond Tellius. When the dark god had raised the oceans and flooded the world, earthquakes and volcanic activity would have followed. That could explain many of the cave-ins and dried lava flows, but Soren had a feeling the city had been vacated long before that. This had to be a truly ancient place if even the laguz, with their long historical record, regarded the mountain passage a legend.

That evening, the freshness of cool night air drew the army higher and higher, until they reached what appeared to be a series of ancient greenhouses sticking out of the mountainside. Moonlight filtered through massive sheets of mica glass, while in other places it was shattered, revealing the stars. The greenhouses were so full of wild, tangled plants that it was difficult to reach the other side. While the beast laguz fanned out and searched for anything edible, the hawks disappeared through the broken mica and scouted the mountainside.

When they returned, they brought a few marmots, owls, and vultures they’d managed to catch. But they also brought disappointing news that they were still deep in the mountains, with Gallia nowhere in sight.

While the beasts shared the fruits, vegetables, and mushrooms they’d foraged, the hawks shared the bit of meat they’d managed to catch. Then Oscar brewed a soup from the blood and bones. Even when he added some herbs from the greenhouses, it still smelled foul. The blood broth was served to the injured soldiers, who hardly had the energy to raise their heads after forcing themselves to march every day, and they didn’t reject the disgusting liquid being spooned into their mouths.

“Well, at least we won’t starve yet,” Ranulf sighed optimistically as he watched everyone eat. He reached a hand to touch one grape-vine-encrusted wall. “This was a good find.”

He then announced to the troops that they would camp here for the rest of the night. Ulki reported yet again that he still heard troops in the lower tunnels. Soren suspected the Begnion soldiers couldn’t turn back now even if they wanted. They were just as trapped as the laguz, and probably just as desperate for escape.

The next day, they followed a tunnel that led outdoors. Here they found narrow, terraced fields built into the mountainside. White peaks surrounded them, but these terraces were relatively protected from ice and snow. Everyone was glad to be outside again, even if only for a moment, and the sunlight warmed the heartsore soldiers. The altitude was high and the air thin, but as long as everyone moved slowly to not overexert themselves, they were able to wander the ancient fields looking for anything growing wild after centuries of neglect.

However, they couldn’t linger here forever or the Begnion soldiers would catch up, and no one would be able to fight when struggling to breathe. Furthermore, there was no route to Gallia here, so the army inevitably moved back into the mountain, taking a new set of tunnels that descended into the musty dark.

On the sixth day, they continued to wander the cave city, where they found more of the ancient peoples’ art and writing. By now, Soren had noticed a single word that kept cropping up, and although he didn’t know what it meant, it struck him as familiar.

With nothing to do except walk, think, and appreciate the torchlight flickering over the dusty artifacts, the answer eventually came to him: he had seen that word in Zunanma. In fact, according to Tormod, that word _was_ Zunanma. Like this city, the desert ruins had contained engravings in a lost dialect. Beorc scholars had discerned this single word and claimed it must be the name of the city. But to see it appearing here, Soren wondered if the linguists had made a mistake.

Soon the army entered a vast, almost impossibly long cavern whose walls on the left and right were cut with little alcoves containing jar after jar molded in the same size and shape. It didn’t take long to realize they’d wandered into a tomb. These urns were the only dead they’d yet found in underground city, and their sheer quantity showed that people must have lived and died here for hundreds of years before their civilization had collapsed. The army was appropriately respectful and quiet as they passed through, and they didn’t make camp until the necropolis was far behind them.

On the seventh day, they left the last of the city’s districts behind, and Soren found they were once again descending into hot, lava-swamped, and rubble-filled tunnels. Some of the soldiers lost heart and mumbled about wanting to go back, but those who still had hope encouraged the others by saying that, if they’d had to pass through lava to get this deep into the Kauku Caves, then they probably had to pass through lava again to get out. Soren didn’t believe that was necessary true, but he did believe going back wasn’t option. Ulki reported that the Begnion troops were gaining on them. As the air got hotter and harder to breathe, Soren hoped they would escape before the enemy reached them—he didn’t want to try to fight in a place like this. 

On the eighth day, they were once again running out of food and water. They came to an island of stone surrounded by a moat of lava. At the center of the island was a twisted rock formation reaching all the way to the ceiling. Five bridge-like structures of varying soundness jutted over the lava, and along the periphery over a dozen tubes led in various directions.

As they often did when faced with a branching path, the injured soldiers stayed behind while the able-bodied laguz scouted ahead. Ike and the Greil Mercenaries, along with Ranulf and his chosen group of guards, all stayed on the island to watch over the injured. But Skrimir and Tibarn joined the scouting missions.

Janaff, Reyson, and a handful of hawks also remained with Ike and Ranulf’s guard, and they perched on the central rock formation, watching the main tunnel for Begnion troops.

Before he’d left with Tibarn, Ulki had warned that the troops were not far now and that if they found a shortcut, they could certainly arrive before the scouting parties returned. Everyone was tense as they milled around their barren island, staring at the heat waves rising off the wrinkly-looking, black-crusted, white-hot lava. They coughed as they struggled to breathe, but hardly anyone spoke.

Therefore, everyone easily heard when the stamp of boots and clank of armor suddenly became audible. Soren jogged to Ike’s side even though the activity made his lungs feel like they were burning from the inside out. He arrived at the same moment Janaff landed beside him.

“Hey Ike! We have company,” he reported.

“Seems that way,” Ike agreed dismally. “What kind of numbers are we looking at? I can’t see through all of this smoke and heat.”

Janaff shrugged apologetically. “Maybe fifty? It’s hard for me to see too.”

“It’s just as Soren said—” Ranulf nodded as he approached “—a token force.”

“As far as I can tell, Zelgius isn’t leading them,” Janaff offered optimistically. “That helps things.”

“We have to keep the enemy away from the injured while Skrimir and the others look for an exit,” Ike declared firmly. “Let’s proceed as planned. We have enough people here to deal with these clowns!” At his words, everyone cheered with hoarse voices—which immediately led to a fit of coughing. “Everyone ready?” Ike called, and his voice was strained too.

“We’re set,” Ranulf agreed. “Let’s finish this and get out of here.” With that, he, Janaff, Ike, and Soren ran to the edge of the island. When they arrived, the Begnion soldiers were already crossing the bridge with pikes out and shields up.

Soren slowed and began whispering his first Elwind spell. His lungs never felt like they could get enough air, even when he wasn’t running around chanting spells. But he just had to endure it now. He grew dizzy as his body rejected the strain, but he willed himself to stay conscious.

His fellow mercenaries weren’t faring any better. They swayed; their strikes missed. When they fell, it took them longer than usual to get up. They wheezed, gasped, panted, and coughed. Mia’s swordsmanship was uncharacterizable sloppy; Shinon’s aim was no longer perfect. Ike’s unique endurance was flagging, and the swings of his sword seemed to connect with only half their usual strength.

Soren was no exception. The gusts he conjured were weaker and duller. It felt as if the wind spirits themselves were suffocated, so he switched to fire magic instead. To his surprise, even simple spells became explosive. The spirits of fire felt strong, pressurized, combustible— and Soren nearly laughed at the obviousness of the realization. When he saw Ilyana struggling with thunder magic just as he had with wind, he fought to her side and shared what he’d discovered.

“You can feel that?” she asked, panting. “That’s incredible.” Her panting turned to coughing. “I’ve felt the presence of thunder spirits a few times—” she coughed again “—but, it’s hard.” Soren had rarely spoken to Ilyana about magic theory before, despite the fact that they were both skilled sages. Neither of them had been academically trained, so it seemed like a pointless subject to broach.

Instead of replying, he continued to whisper Fire and Elfire spells, knocking back and igniting any Begnion soldiers who got too close. One man’s beard caught fire, and he was so terrified as he tried to put it out that he accidentally tripped and fell back into the lava moat.

Ilyana stopped chanting to cough and (apparently) try to start a conversation. “There’s something I have been meaning to ask you,” she said before coughing again.

While she uttered another Fire spell, Soren fell for the bait: “What?”

“You’re a Spirit Charmer, aren’t you?” Ilyana asked, wiping blood from her cracked lips with the back of her hand. “That is why magic comes easily to you?” She uttered another Fire spell when a Daein swordsman ran at her.

The man rolled forward to avoid the attack and kept running. Soren directed his next spell at him, this time accounting for his dodge. When the man tried the same technique, he ended up running right into the fireball. He was thrown backward, and he didn’t rise again.

“No,” Soren finally answered honestly. “I am not.” His lungs were seizing now in their desire to expel the smoke, and he fell into a fit of coughing that almost sent him to the ground. His head was swimming when he finally recovered and looked back at Ilyana.

Sweat ran in rivulets down her ash-blackened skin. “Oh, I’m sorry to presume.”

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Soren croaked, wondering why he was wasting his voice on this conversation. Turning his attention to the ongoing battle, he was satisfied to see that it was wrapping up nicely (albeit sloppily).

Ilyana didn’t press further, and they both moved forward to where the fighting continued in a haze of heat and gas. Soren uttered a few more Fire spells to help his comrades, but he didn’t feel he had the strength left to cast even an Elfire spell. When an arrow shot out of the smoke and pegged him in the arm, he fell to the ground and decided he was done.

Dragging himself to his feet, he trudged away from the fight back to where the injured laguz were anxiously listening to the battle and coughing weakly among themselves. Bracing himself against the rock formation, Soren broke off the end of the arrow and pulled it out the other side. This was annoyingly painful, but he knew it would cause less damage than pulling it back out the way it went in. A tiger laguz who was missing an arm came over with a relatively clean bandage clenched in his remaining hand. “Here,” he said.

Soren was honestly surprised. The laguz troops never approached him of their own will. They had been ignoring him since the beginning of the campaign, and he’d gotten used to that. Not even Skrimir’s acceptance had changed their behavior. He wondered if this laguz was just stupid and couldn’t tell he was Branded. But then a cat laguz who had two hands but no left leg hobbled over on a crutch. “I can help with that,” she said, balancing with the crutch under her armpit so both hands were free.

Soren said nothing, but he held out his arm while she wrapped and tied the bandage. The bone wasn’t broken and the brachial artery hadn’t been hit, so Soren was lucky. Without staves or vulneraries around, he would probably have to wait for this to heal naturally.

When the cat was done, she said, “Wait, I’ll find you a sling,” and disappeared among the other injured. When she came back, it was at the same time everyone else returned from the battle. The sound of fighting had died out a minute ago, and as Soren counted the people materializing through the smoke, he was glad to see no one had died. Many people were clearly injured, but if they could get out of these caves soon, Soren hoped they wouldn’t succumb to blood loss or infection.

A half hour later, Skrimir came bounding happily down one of the stone bridges. “Ike, Ranulf!” he called, skidding to a halt when he reached them. “This way! I found a way out!” His tail was upright and flicking proudly, and his fanged mouth was positively grinning.

“Excellent!” Ranulf cried, and the sentiment was repeated by everyone within earshot. “Let’s get out of here!”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Ike agreed.

Soren released a sigh of relief, which only led to a fit of coughing. He couldn’t believe they’d finally struck lucky.

Despite Skrimir’s anxiousness to depart, they needed to wait for Tibarn and the rest of the scouts. As a compromise, Skrimir led the injured out first, in groups of twenty. By the time he came back for the third group, all of the scouts had returned and the whole army could finally leave their lava island.

The air grew increasingly clearer, and as Soren’s lungs filled with oxygen again, his head grew clearer too. The lava tunnels let to a small cave with a narrow crevasse leading to one of the ancient city’s carved tunnels. There was fresh air and sunlight here, and the gap was just wide enough that the horses could squeeze through as long as their saddlebags were removed.

When Soren finally reached the end of the tunnel, and a wide-open land appeared before him, he found himself turning around to look back at the elegantly carved archway. Although he was relieved to be alive and to not have gotten the entire army killed, he found himself thinking that the Kauku Caves hadn’t been so terrible after all. A part of him even entertained the idea of going back someday. It seemed a shame for the secrets of that underground city to remain forgotten in the dark forever.

But then Soren shook his head, telling himself the toxic gasses must be addling his brain. He was a mercenary not an archeologist, a mage not a scholar, a tactician not a historian. It was nothing but whimsy to imagine there was anything in the Kauku Caves for him.

Turning back the fresh air and sunlight, he joined Ike as he walked over to Skrimir and Ranulf. “Yes! We did it! We made it through the caves!” Skrimir was saying, pounding his chest as if that would help remove the ash built up inside.

“We finally lost the Begnion army too,” Ike agreed with a sigh. “We can finally rest a bit.”

Skrimir closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun. “I thought we were finished… I thought my rashness had killed us,” he admitted. “But we’ve lived to see our land again!”

Just then, Tibarn stomped up and seized the back of Skrimir’s head. “Hey, Skrimir!” he said, and although his voice was not particularly angry, it was filled with urgency. “Has all the heat gone to that shaggy head of yours? Look around. Is this Gallia?”

“…What?” Skrimir’s face fell, and Tibarn let go. “No! We can’t be in-”

Soren realized the truth in the same moment. The weather was too warm and arid for this to be Gallia in spring, and the land was too flat and open. This was Goldoa.


	11. CHAPTER 77: GOLDOA

“You!” came an astonished shout at the bottom of the hill. “By whose authority have you entered this land?” A single dark-skinned, red-haired soldier jogged up to them, looking completely affronted.

“Goldoa, the land of the dragons…” Ranulf clenched his ears with both hands and shook his head. “By the Goddess, did we mess up.”

“The dragons…” Skrimir stared at the soldier in amazement. “It is said they are the most powerful of all laguz tribes. I’ve always wanted to fight a dragon, but I never expected it would happen like this…” He winced visibly. “When our King finds out about this, I will have much explaining to do.”

“Hey!” the soldier didn’t seem to appreciate being ignored. “I said who are you and what are you doing here!”

“You’ve got to get home first, Skrimir,” Tibarn sighed. “I guess we have to pay that stubborn old lizard a visit, don’t we?” His voice was resigned but worried too.

“Let’s go,” Reyson agreed, sounding more confident than Tibarn looked, and that seemed to hearten the hawk.

“I’ll ask you one more time!” the soldier shouted. “The land of Goldoa is barred from entry. Why are you-”

Tibarn raised one hand to stop his angry shouting. “I am Tibarn, King of Phoenicis. I have a right to call upon King Dheginsea as my peer.”

“You have no right without invitation!” countered the soldier, adding indignantly: “And how dare you enter Goldoa with an army!”

Tibarn laughed. “An army?” He gestured at the admittedly pathetic-looking troops: less than two thousand beasts and a thousand hawks, all of whom were starving and dehydrated. The majority were recovering from illness and injury (if not still feverish with infection), and many had lost limbs. “This is no army. These are your prisoners. Now take us for your King’s judgement.” He held out both wrists as if the soldier should clap him in irons.

“Turn back,” the soldier growled. To his merit, he was not easily intimidated, not even by Tibarn.

But now the Hawk King was done playing. He grabbed the soldier by his collar and lifted him onto the tips of his toes. “You will take us to Dheginsea,” he snarled with murder in his eyes.

When he dropped him, the soldier’s face was slack with fear, and this time, he didn’t argue. “I will take you to Elpis,” he said. “My captain will decide what to do with you.”

“Lead the way,” was Tibarn’s reply.

Elpis was the closest city, and as soon as they were within range, hundreds of soldiers (and what appeared to be civilians) poured out of the gates to surround them, separate them into manageable units, and escort them into the city. “Don’t worry,” Tibarn whispered, “Goldoans are strict but not cruel. By their own laws, they must treat captives with honor until judgment is passed. The soldiers will be fed and watered for now... Even if we do end up dead later.”

Soren’s tome and knife were confiscated, along with all of the mercenaries’ weapons, and the laguz were warned that any transformation would be interpreted as a hostile act. Tibarn and Skrimir commanded their soldiers be patient and obedient until they were released to Gallia (while their captors scoffed at the idea that that would happen.)

Tibarn intimidated the city’s captain just as he had the sentry, and the next day, they were all leaving Elpis for the capital city of Argos. Soren was so weary from marching he felt he could sleep for years, and yet he’d hardly slept at all the night before.

It hadn’t been because his quarters were unpleasant. On the contrary, the Goldoan prison had hardly seemed like a prison at all (more like a barracks no one had used in a long time). The bed hadn’t been uncomfortable and the furnishings had been modest but of good quality. Neither had he been unable to sleep due to fear. Although Soren wasn’t convinced Tibarn and Skrimir could get them out of this mess—and he knew it was possible the King of Dragons could have their entire army executed as soon as they got to the capital—that wasn’t the reason for his sleeplessness.

The truth of the matter was that Soren was still uncomfortable around dragons, and now he was surrounded by them. Since hiding from the Goldoans when their ship had run aground, since being taunted by Nasir and manipulated into secrecy, and especially since embarrassing himself in front of Ena on her last day in Crimea—Soren was ashamed for ever thinking he shared their blood.

And he had a lot of time to stew in his shame, because the march to Argos was long and boring. Each night he slept about as well as he had the first night, even though the Goldoans provided soft bedrolls, blankets, and tall, conical tents to make their journey easier.

They gave them medicine and fresh bandages too, and thanks to that, the hole in Soren’s shoulder managed to avoid festering. Mist stitched the wound with thread, and he wore the sling each day so it could heal as quickly as possible. His opposite hand had completely recovered from the wound he’d received on the Ribahn River, but unfortunately it seemed this other limb would now be out of commission for the foreseeable future.

After a week, they finally reached Argos: a massive, walled city sprouting hexagonal towers. It was built above a stony landscape where not much seemed to grow. The land itself had been carved into deep pits and quarries, and the staircase leading to the main gate seemed excessively long. As tired as Soren was, the height felt like a personal insult.

Most of the troops were allowed to make camp outside Argos, but the army’s leadership was forced to climb the many steps, march through the city, and eventually enter the castle’s throne room. Like the rest of Goldoa’s architecture, nothing here was particularly fancy or ornate, but it was highly organized and almost soothingly geometric. Even the thrones were just modest stone chairs with blue cloth draped across the seats. There were five thrones, but three had small, symbolic-looking black pillows on them, possibly to prevent anyone from sitting there.

Soren knew Dheginsea’s wife and at least one of his three children were dead. (The eldest, Rajaion, had died in front of his eyes at the end of the Mad King’s War.) He also knew that the youngest child, Kurthnaga, was alive and well. This made Soren wonder if the last throne was for the middle child (a daughter, if he remembered correctly). He was wondering how she might have died, when the King of Dragons finally swept into the room.

“What are you doing here, Tibarn?” he asked dryly, sitting in the empty throne at the center. He didn’t look at anyone but the Hawk King.

But they were all staring at him. While Tibarn gave a lengthy explanation—starting all the way back with the Serenes Massacre—Soren assessed the thousand-year-old man. Surprisingly, he didn’t look particularly old. His skin was dark and minimally wrinkled. He was bald but had a thick mustache and intense-looking eyebrows. These were the same black-green color as his sons’ hair, without a single gray strand to be seen. He was shorter than Tibarn, and although he lacked the mass of Skrimir or Caineghis, neither was he a daisy. He stood tall, and he was clearly healthy despite his age.

Soren marveled at the fact that this man had been alive before the drowning of the world. He could remember a time when there’d been continents other than Tellius. If legend was to be believed, he had even fought the dark god himself, helping lock it away in the medallion.

The longer Soren looked, the more his surprise ebbed. A strange power was wafting from this man, like a heady perfume. Soren had never been drunk before, but he imagined this was what it might feel like. A blanket washed over his mind, lulling him into a stupor he had to fight to resist. Soren realized this man, albeit unassuming at first, could probably make others fall to their knees with a single glance.

The power was frightening, but as Tibarn continued to tell his story in easy tones, Soren realized the Hawk King must be fighting it. And if Tibarn could resist, so could he. Focusing his mind, Soren listened closely to the end of the story and tried to ignore the ancient dragon. To his satisfaction, soon after he decided to reject Dheginsea’s influence, the power lost its grip on him. He found he could stand straighter; the room came back into focus.

“And there you have it,” Tibarn concluded. “We never intended to violate Goldoa’s borders. It was an accident.”

“I see…” Dheginsea rested his elbows on the chair’s stone arms and knitted his fingers. “I understand your predicament. However, your reasons neither justify nor change the fact that you trespassed on our territory. I order you to leave immediately. Go back the way you came, through the caves.”

“You would have us go through the Kauku Caves again?” Skrimir demanded. “Never!”

“Stop talking, Skrimir,” Ranulf pleaded, grabbing the prince’s arm.

“Many of my men are wounded!” he growled, ignoring the warning. “You’re sending them to their deaths! I will not allow this!”

“It is regrettable, yes,” replied Dheginsea, although his voice didn’t sound particularly regretful. He turned his gaze on Skrimir for the first time. “However, I cannot make exceptions. Your men will leave. Now.”

“How could a laguz be so cold to his brothers?” Skrimir shot back. “We are your people as well!”

“This isn’t news, Skrimir,” Tibarn interjected, crossing his arms. “Goldoa and its lizards have ignored the suffering of their laguz brethren for centuries. They even looked the other way while we birds and beasts were enslaved by the beorc. Isn’t that so, Dragon King?” His words were thick with distaste. 

“Our country is neutral,” Dheginsea declared, unoffended. “It has been since time out of mind and will continue to be so.”

“Then you might as well just kill us now,” Ike cut in, throwing up his hands. “It’d be the same as sending us back to the Kauku Caves, and it saves us the walk.”

Now Dheginsea turned his gaze toward Ike for the first time. His neck moved slightly as if he had to look at him differently than the others. “You are beorc. I would not expect your short-lived kind to understand.” Soren wondered when King Goldoa had last seen a beorc and realized it was probably centuries ago.

“I don’t need to understand to see that it’s a poor king who has so little regard for his fellow man,” Ike replied, pointing a single accusing finger at him. If he’d felt the daunting energy coming from Dheginsea, he must have fought it off as well. Even though Ike was being an idiot and putting his life in danger, Soren couldn’t help but feel proud.

“Hmm,” growled Dheginsea, narrowing his eyes, but before he could call for Ike to be executed (or whatever he was going to say next), the doors to the throne room burst open, and Ena rushed inside.

“Your Majesty! Please hear us!” she cried, and Nasir came running in behind her.

Soren felt shock ripple through Ike and Titania, who were standing beside him, but he wasn’t surprised. If the Black Knight had survived Castle Nados, then there had always been a possibility Nasir had survived too. And having ruined his relations with Crimea, Daein, and Gallia, where else would he have slunk off to but his homeland? That being said, Soren was far from happy to see the traitor again.

“What are you two doing here?” Dheginsea drawled in annoyance.

Ena bowed low. “Please allow me and my grandfather to guide the Laguz Alliance to the borders of Gallia. I beg of you.”

Nasir also bowed, but not as low. “Prince Reyson of the heron tribe stands among them,” he added. When he raised his head, his eyes met Reyson’s. “The dragon tribe owes him safe passage.” He turned his gaze to Dheginsea. “Please, Your Majesty! He saved the soul of your son! Would you condemn them to die despite the good they’ve done?”

“Hmph,” Dheginsea’s grumble turned into a sigh, “Do as you like.” Raising one hand, he spread all his fingers in a gesture of release. “This is the only exception I will ever make.” With that, he stood and walked toward the door.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Ena said in a rush, with her eyes clamped shut.

Guards heaved the double doors open, and when they closed behind him, everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief. Then Ike broke the happy silence: “So, Nasir…you’re alive,” he observed.

Titania chuckled uncertainly.

“That _is_ a surprise,” agreed Ranulf.

“Who is this guy?” asked Skrimir.

Nasir raised his hands peaceably. “I apologize for not contacting you after the war,” he said, addressing Ike, “but I imagined you would not wish to speak to me again.”

“You saved me and Mist,” Ike said with a shake of his head. “Of course I’d want to know you were okay.”

Nasir bowed his head apologetically. “I only wish I could have finished the job,” he said, “I hear the Black Knight survived as well.” Ena shivered visibly at the name.

“He did,” Ike confirmed. “But I know I’ll beat him when- if I face him again.”

“Naturally,” Nasir replied with a simple nod. Soren thought it condescending, but Ike didn’t seem to mind.

“You must be hungry and weary,” Ena said, changing the subject. “I will show to where you can rest before we leave.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Tibarn groaned, stretching his back. He and the rest followed Ena and Nasir out of the room. Soren trailed behind, eyeing the thrones and ancient architecture a final time.

The journey to the Gallian border was lengthy and awkward. Ena didn’t instigate any conversation with Soren, and neither he with her, so he didn’t know if she remembered their brief conversation back in Crimea. Nasir didn’t tease him or show any indication that Ena had spoken to him about it, but the very idea was embarrassing. The last thing he wanted was for Nasir to think he wanted to be like him.

In wasn’t until the fourth day that Nasir finally approached him. Everyone else was seated around one campfire or another, but Soren had been expecting this to happen eventually, which was why he’d been lingering in the dark, away from the others—just to give Nasir the chance.

“My, Soren, you haven’t changed at all,” was the dragon’s greeting.

“I could say the same,” he replied coolly, “but whether you are still a traitorous worm remains to be seen.”

Nasir frowned as if the words stung, but Soren knew they didn’t. “Everything I did was to protect my granddaughter.” He cast his gaze to one of the closest fires, where Ena was smiling politely at something Gatrie was saying. “Ike understands that and has forgiven me.”

“Ike is too forgiving,” Soren shot back.

“I wanted to save him too,” Nasir continued, “That boy is special… I was prepared to give my life so that he and Ena could escape.”

Soren could think of no reason Nasir would be lying to win favor now, and his claim seemed genuine. But that didn’t make it any easier for him to swallow. “You’re right; Ike is special. But he already has plenty of people watching out for him. He doesn’t need you.”

“Would you have preferred I let King Dheginsea send you back to those goddess-forsaken caves?”

The answer was so obvious that Soren refused to give it.

Silence stretched between them until Nasir sighed, “Very well, then.”

He started to move away, but Soren stopped him. “Ike knows the truth,” he said, “about me. So you can’t use that against me anymore. Your leverage is gone.”

“Oh?” Nasir seemed amused by this outburst. “But why would I need leverage now? I don’t need anything from Ike, or you. In fact, I seem to be the one doing you a favor.”

Soren was annoyed at his response, and even more so by the fact that what he said was true. It had been foolish to think his declaration would phase him, but oddly enough, he was still glad he’d made it. “I just wanted you to know the state of things,” he finished coolly.

“Why thank you,” Nasir returned. He then seemed to appraise Soren. “You must regret not telling him sooner. The only leverage I had was that which you gave me… So much unpleasantness might have been avoided.”

Soren glared back, and the next question slipped out before he could decide whether it was a good idea: “Why do you hate me? You’re not a bigot. You’re not superstitious. So why?”

Nasir seemed surprised by the accusation. “Regardless of what you may believe, Soren, not everyone hates you.”

He growled under his breath. Nasir could rile him like no one else.

To his annoyance, the dragon seemed to soften at this display of frustration. “I misjudged you, I’ll admit. I did not expect your loyalty to Ike to endure as it has. I fully expected you to make callous decisions to achieve your goals and thereby drive a stake between you. But you have upheld his ideals thus far.” The congratulation in his voice was too much to bear.

“You have the audacity to question _my_ loyalty?” Soren ground the words through his teeth.

Nasir shook his head. “My apologies.”

“You had better not try to enter Gallia with us,” Soren said suddenly.

Nasir didn’t appear offended by the threat. “Of course, my place is in Goldoa now.”

“Make sure that is where you stay.” Leaving Nasir in the dark, Soren stalked toward the fire where Ike and Ranulf were seated. Instead of following him, the dragon slunk into the night. Soren supposed this was a win, but it was a hollow victory.

Over the next few days, he tried to distract himself from thoughts of Nasir, the Kauku Caves, and the defeat of the Laguz Alliance by mentally composing a detailed analysis of Goldoan culture. He imagined he could write it all down someday and perhaps sell it to scholars who dreamed of the dragon kingdom but could never set foot here.

As he already knew, there were three main types of dragons and each was associated with a social class: black dragons were the royals, white dragons (like Nasir) the nobles, and red dragons the commoners and soldiers. Pink dragons like Ena arose when a white dragon married downward, but they were still considered nobles themselves. Silver dragons were born of a white and black dragon, but one of these had not been born since the drowning of the world. On that note, not a single new dragon had been born to anyone in the country in over two centuries. There were no children here, life was stagnant, and the population was dwindling.

As Soren observed the villages they passed, he quickly discovered that tradition and order were integral to each Goldoan’s livelihood. Everyone moved and worked slowly but deliberately. Everything from their homes to their streets to their gardens was careful, exact, and even geometric.

The Goldoans also seemed devoutly religious. Half of the buildings Soren saw seemed to be temples, and all of their art (of which there was much) depicted Ashera or other holy scenes. This art could be seen almost everywhere—whether it was on an engraved metal cup, a painted ceramic vase, a tooled leather belt, or an entire mosaic wall. Furthermore, the only books Goldoans seemed to read were holy scriptures and doctrines. That being said, everything was in the ancient language, so it was hard to tell.

As the days passed, Soren found he wasn’t the only one taking an interest in the forbidden country. In the evenings, conversation around the campfires often came back to the history of Tellius and the nature of its many tribes (unusual topics for a bunch of soldiers and mercenaries).

“Goldoa’s not so different than anywhere else,” Ike said one night, which drew surprised glances, especially since some of the others had just been saying the opposite—claiming the dragon kingdom seemed foreign to them. However, some of the others were smiling and nodding in agreement.

Mist was one of them. “I guess wherever you go, people are just people,” she agreed, and this also drew head-nods.

“There is a…distinct feeling about this land, however,” Reyson spoke up, but judging by his tone, he didn’t seem to be trying to contradict her. He closed his eyes a moment. “I’ve felt it since first arriving here. At times, it reminds me of Serenes, but at other times it feels…exotic.”

Soren couldn’t help but try to perceive what Reyson was describing, although he doubted his Branded sense could compare to the heron’s. A shiver ran up his spine, but that could have just been the cool night air. He did wonder if what Reyson was sensing could be the reason he’d felt so uneasy since coming here. (He would rather blame Goldoa itself than his own weak constitution.)

“You are well attuned to the land, Prince Reyson,” Nasir spoke up, joining their campfire. Soren glared, but the others welcomed him and he sat down “There are many forces of magic in Tellius, and some reside more strongly in certain parts of the world. The Serenes Forest is a deeply magical place, yes, but Goldoa has its own veins of power—and we Goldoans our own ways of honoring it.”

“The same for beast tribe,” Mordecai purred. “Forests of Gallia are…more than home.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen any magic in Phoenicis.” Janaff laughed. “You hear any, Ulki?”

“Not to my knowledge,” his counterpart replied.

But Nasir corrected them: “It is there, young hawks. It is weaker and different that Serenes or Goldoa, but it is there.”

“What about Crimea?” Ike asked curiously.

“Or Begnion and Daein?” Mist added. “Do beorc nations have it too?”

Nasir didn’t answer immediately, and Soren couldn’t help but lean forward. He wished he didn’t care so much about what the old dragon had to say. “I traveled all over Tellius in my years abroad, and yes, I believe there is a different kind of magic in beorc nations. After all, your people wield tomes and staves, using incantations to harness it.”

Ike laughed at that. “Soren and Mist maybe. I don’t think I have a drop of power like that.”

Boyd threw an arm around his commander. “Hey, don’t you worry, Boss! Strong guys like us don’t need it.” The others laughed, but Nasir still looked pensive.

Mist ignored Boyd and Ike beside her and rested her chin on her hand. Her expression was thoughtful as she gazed at the sky. “The way you describe it, Nasir. It almost sounds like you think the source of difference between laguz and beorc is just…environmental—I mean, where we happen to be born.”

Nasir didn’t reply, but his expression did flicker into something of a small smile. Soren didn’t appreciate the dragon's little expressions; as if he fancied himself wiser than anyone else here. Neither did he appreciate where this conversation was headed, but he couldn't leave or redirect it, so he merely sat with the others—this odd assortment of friends and comrades, these beorc and laguz—and listened.

Ranulf had also been sitting quietly this entire time, but now he chuckled. “Don’t forget, Mist, you and Ike were both born in Gallia. So unless you two have a couple of tails you’ve been managing to hide from me…” He narrowed his eyes and rubbed his chin in mock-suspicion.

Mist blushed and smiled. “Maybe it was a silly thought.”

“I don’t think so,” Ike countered. “The differences between laguz and beorc aren’t that big.”

“Of course,” Janaff laughed as if this were a joke. “I mean, I for one am always forgetting which one’s Ilyana and which one’s Skrimir.”

This drew laughter from the others, but not Ike. Soren knew he hadn’t been joking; this was honestly what he believed. Even now he didn’t grow chagrined or back down as Mist had. If Ike were the only person in the world to think this, he still wouldn’t believe he was wrong. “No, seriously,” he said. “How’s my having blue hair any different than you having wings?”

Janaff wiped fake tears from his eyes. “Let’s see you try to fly with that blue hair of yours, Ike my boy.”

Ike frowned and cocked his head as if he didn’t understand the hawk’s response, and Soren surprised himself by being more aggravated with Ike’s naivete than Janaff’s mocking. Through this entire philosophical debate, Soren’s mind had been consumed by the matter of his own mixed blood. He’d been born in Daein, but that hadn’t been enough to make him beorc. That was a fact.

“Laguz and beorc are as different as two species can be,” he found himself saying aloud, his cold, hard tone seizing the conversation and killing it. “Not only are their appearances different, but their lifespans, innate abilities, and forms of magic also differ drastically. It goes without saying that their behaviors, emotions, motivations, and thought patterns are also irreconcilable. It is fantasy to ignore such self-evident truths.”

Everyone frowned and cast down their eyes, becoming suddenly regretful and morose. Even those who had disagreed with Ike a moment ago didn’t seem to appreciate his response. Unsurprisingly, Ike was the only one who didn’t appear saddened by Soren’s judgement; of course, he would never change his mind. But he was staring at him now. His expression wasn’t pity per say, but it seemed as if Ike was worried about him. _Are you okay?_ his face asked.

Soren tore his gaze away. Unfortunately, his eyes now met Nasir’s. His expression was disappointed, and yet he didn’t look surprised. Soren supposed this kind of outburst was exactly what the dragon expected from him, and that was frustrating.

He stood suddenly. “I’m going to bed. Feel free to continue spouting your drivel.” With that, he left the campfire. No one came after him or said anything—not even Ike.

However, later that evening, Ike did enter the tent where Soren was failing to sleep and whispered: “Are you awake?”

“Not anymore,” he sighed, pretending that he hadn’t been lying here wracked by tumultuous thoughts since leaving the campfire over an hour ago.

“Sorry, but this is important.”

Soren turned over and sat up. “What is it?”

Ike didn’t sit down. “I’ve thought about it a lot, and you’re wrong. There’s no difference in how beorc and laguz think and feel.”

“I supposed one would have to study the two races empirically to disentangle inherent traits from cultural ones,” he proposed, willing to meet Ike halfway.

But apparently Ike was not willing. He crossed his arms. “No, they wouldn’t. We should just _know_ that. It should be obvious.”

“You’re the only one who thinks that, Ike,” Soren sighed.

“No, I’m not. In fact, I thought you-” He shook his head. “…You’re saying the type of things you haven’t said in a long time.”

Soren supposed that was true. He couldn’t think of a reply.

“You used to slip up and say ‘subhuman’ once in a while,” Ike continued. “You don’t do that anymore. But maybe there’s no difference if you still think it. If you still think laguz are lesser. If you still think of yourself that way…” His stern tone had been softening with every word. Apparently this wasn’t the type of righteous anger Ike could sustain. Now he just looked tired.

Soren shook his head, feeling suddenly, inexplicably ashamed. “Look, maybe I don’t…necessarily believe what I said. But it would be…easier for everyone, for the world, to continue believing it. Laguz and beorc should stay separate.”

“Why?”

Soren couldn’t give the answer he was thinking: using his own life as evidence that only pain and misery followed when laguz and beorc associated. So he gave his second most pressing justification: “Whatever the reason, laguz live longer than beorc. That is not a hurdle idealism can overcome.”

Ike frowned. “Peasants live shorter than nobles, don’t they? Does that make me and Queen Elincia different species?”

Soren’s mouth twisted into a pained smile. “Some nobles would certainly think so,” he offered wryly, deciding not to explain that this was only due to the fact that money could buy health and security or that this disparity was entirely different than laguz and beorc’s different rates of aging. He didn’t say these things, because he knew Ike still wouldn’t see a difference.

Ike shook his head and sighed. “Look, I’m not my father; I’m not good at scolding anyone. Honestly, I came in here to make sure you’re okay.” He finally sat down, kicking up one leg and stretching out the other. “Are you?”

Soren couldn’t meet his gaze. “I am fine. I just…don’t much like this country. I haven’t been sleeping well.” Even as he said this, he wasn’t sure whether he meant it as an excuse or an honest explanation.

“We’ll be back in Gallia soon,” Ike offered, apparently accepting it. “We’re almost home, Soren.”

Although ‘home’ didn’t seem like quite the right word, he did find this a mollifying thought.

Eventually they neared the border, and as they did so, the villages grew more populous. Nasir and Ena explained that most Goldoans lived on the periphery of the country because every citizen saw it as their duty to help guard the borders and not let a single soul in or out. The bulk of that duty, however, rested with a nomadic ‘patrol’ of soldiers who constantly moved along the border, always on guard for an invader (or, Soren suspected, a malcontent trying to leave).

After spending just a couple weeks in Goldoa, Soren understood why some dragons would try to slip away and experience the world of beorc, as Ena claimed Rajaion had. He also understood why Nasir had chosen to live abroad as a spy. Goldoa may fancy itself a utopia, but Soren could see it as no more than a prison and a cult. The idea of Nasir being stuck here for the rest of his days was strangely satisfying, and Soren clung to this thought since it proved a welcome distraction as the final uncomfortable days in this country came to an end.

Finally the army reached the edge of a cliff, beyond which stretched a forest of massive trees: Gallia. “Well, here you are,” Nasir said, gesturing at the far green country. “I think you know the way from here.”

“Thanks, Nasir,” Ike said, grasping his hand and giving it a firm shake. “You really saved us back here.”

“It’s the least we could do,” Nasir replied graciously. Stepping back, he put an arm around Ena’s shoulders. “I pray for your safety.”

“I as well,” Ena agreed, bowing her head.

Skrimir and Ranulf waved and called their thanks, but they were also eager to get going. Tibarn and his hawks glided to the bottom, and the rest began picking their way down the cliffside path. When Soren’s feet finally touched the bed of moss and pine needles, he could hardly believe the relief that flooded through him. Gallia felt safe and familiar—and the irony of that fact was not lost on him. He and the Greil Mercenaries had survived Begnion, the Kauku Caves, and Goldoa. Soren hadn’t messed up and gotten everyone killed. It was finally over.

Hawks flew to Zarzi to announce their arrival, but it was hardly necessary because Gallian border scouts found them within the hour. They were clearly astonished to see their lost army suddenly appearing at the southern border, but this surprise gave way to mirth and celebration. Although the number of beasts returning was less than half of those who’d departed, the Gallians were glad to see Skrimir, Ranulf, and at least some of the army return alive.

The march to the capital was easy, and Soren found he could finally sleep soundly at night. During the day, they continued their leisurely walk north. Gallian civilians met them on the road and in the settlements they passed. These people plied the returning soldiers with food, medicine, olivi grass, fresh clothes and blankets, new handcarts, rain tarps, and other supplies. They also gifted them booze, spring flowers, war paint, and music. Skrimir and the proud Gallian soldiers accepted these gifts, but no one seemed happy about it. They’re faces were grim, and their stances painfully rigid. They were returning in defeat not victory; to accept these accolades was to swallow their own failure. 

Soren, on the other hand, took no issue with the comfort thrust upon him, and he advised Ike not be shy about it either. When some Gallians asked what they could do for the beorc mercenaries who’d fought beside their prince, Ike gave them a list—at the top of which were new Heal staves for Mist and Rhys. The merchants had their own lists too, and as they traveled through Gallia, they slowly reacquired what they’d lost in Begnion and the Kauku Caves. This included new wagons (or rather, old wagons that had come from Crimea ages ago and been well taken care of by their laguz owners for over two decades). What couldn’t be given to them on the road, civilians and soldiers promised to have sent to Zarzi.

Eventually Mist did get her hands on a new Heal staff. Apparently it had been safeguarded as a novelty by some Gallian with a penchant for items of beorc magic he couldn’t actually use. She and Rhys healed the mercenaries’ injuries from the Kauku Caves, even though many were nearly healed already—including Soren’s arm. Once again, Mist idly commented on how fast he healed, making him uncomfortable. But she didn’t press, apparently not suspicious of this strange talent. She closed the wound the rest of the way, leaving a scar but no pain or weakness. Soren could finally stop wearing the sling, and for that he was glad. The rest of the mercenaries seemed happy too, and as soon as they were all feeling well again, they started sparring every morning and night.


	12. CHAPTER 78: ZARZI

When they reached Zarzi, Caineghis greeted the army from atop the castle steps. “Welcome home, brave warriors of Gallia!” he bellowed, “A long way you have come, and now you shall rest! A feast is being prepared in the great hall! Make ready yourselves at the barracks, and dine with me this evening!” A cheer met his words, and the army dispersed, filing into the city to be boarded at their assigned quarters. Soren knew those too injured to continue serving in the army would be discharged tomorrow, but for now they were still treated like warriors.

While the beast and hawk soldiers marched proudly away, Skrimir, Tibarn, and Ranulf mounted the steps to castle. The Greil Mercenaries followed at a respectful distance, but Ike was not far behind Ranulf. When they reached the palace gate, Caineghis dropped his hands onto his nephew’s shoulders and whispered something Soren couldn’t hear. He couldn’t see the young lion’s face either, but he knew him well enough to know he must be wallowing in shame. Caineghis’s eyes were tender, but Soren had no doubt this only made Skrimir feel worse.

When they parted, Caineghis and Tibarn shook hands, and Caineghis told Ranulf (who had dropped to one knee) to rise. He shook his hand as well, and then turned to Ike (who was—true to form—not kneeling). “Welcome back to Gallia, Ike,” he said, shaking his hand now. “You and your mercenaries may make yourselves at home in the palace.”

“We’d appreciate a couple rooms—” Ike spoke as easily with King Gallia as he would any friend “—and the merchants traveling with us will need a place to stay too.”

“Of course,” Caineghis replied. “Everything has been prepared. Please come inside.” With that, he swept his arm wide and gestured that everyone should follow him into the palace’s interior. It was only then that Soren realized Giffca was there too, standing by the door. Even though he understood now that the black lion’s ability to mask his presence was a laguz skill, he still couldn’t get used to it.

The mercenaries settled into the same suite of rooms they were given every time they visited Zarzi, and Ike once again moved into quarters that had once belonged to Greil and Elena. Soren’s room, although more modest, was next door.

It appeared Caineghis truly had prepared everything ahead of time, because Soren found spell books set out on the desk and freshly tailored robes hanging in the wardrobe. From the jabbering he heard in the hall, he deduced that the other mercenaries had found similar gifts and were excitedly showing each other their new clothes, weapons, books, tools, armor, and even jewelry.

He would sort through the spells later and take whatever was still usable, but for now he wanted to bathe before the feast. When he stepped into the corridor, he realized the rest of the mercenaries must be thinking the same thing. Shinon and Gatrie were already shirtless and racing toward the baths. Boyd chucked his shoes back into his room before starting to run, and when he passed, Ilyana and Aimee pressed themselves against the wall to get out of the way. Each woman was wrapped in the plush towels Gallian servants had placed in their rooms. And as soon as Boyd had gone, they skipped down the hall, chattering excitedly. Aimee seemed enamored with the promise of a good bath, but Ilyana was talking about the coming feast as if she couldn’t hear a word Aimee was saying.

At the feast, Caineghis once again praised his troops’ bravery, Skirmir’s leadership, and Ranulf’s wisdom. He also thanked the Greil Mercenaries for their continued friendship with Gallia, and they were all given special seats at the front of the hall, near the king’s table. When announcements were concluded and everyone applied themselves to the food and conversation, Soren was glad to find he could hear Caineghis easily from his position. This was important, not because he wanted to chat with the Beast King, but because he wanted to hear what he and the other royals would say. While the soldiers celebrated, their leaders would talk business—or so Soren hoped.

On Caineghis’s right sat Skrimir, beside whom sat Ranulf. Other important beast lords were seated down from him, and Giffca was sitting at the end. Tibarn was on Caineghis’s right, and beside him sat a woman Soren had to assume was Queen Nailah of Hatari. White wolf’s ears poked out of her purple-gray hair, and she wore a cloth headdress that draped across her right eye in a way that made Soren wonder if she’d somehow lost it in battle. Next to her sat the heron Rafiel, who looked like an older, weaker, and far tamer version of his brother. In fact, compared to Rafiel, Reyson looked more like a hawk than a heron, and the comparison was easy to make because Reyson was sitting right next to him. Leanne sat on his other side, looking as cheerful and serene as ever. Their father, King Lorazieh was nowhere to be seen, and Soren hoped that meant at least one heron was still standing guard over Lehran’s Medallion somewhere deeper in the castle.

While everyone dug into the feast’s first course, Caineghis began the conversation by telling his nephew and everyone else how glad he was that they’d returned safely and how worried he’d been these past couple months. “To me it was as if Begnion had swallowed up the Laguz Alliance in a single gulp,” he said, raising his palm. “How relieved I am that that was not the case.”

For the next two courses, Skirmir, Ranulf, and Tibarn worked together to tell Caineghis everything that had transpired since contact had been lost three months ago—back when they’d been crossing Seliora for the first time.

When they came to the part about encountering the Daein Army, Caineghis was clearly disturbed, and Nailah and Rafiel traded perplexed glances. When asked for their interpretation of Daein’s decision to assist Begnion, neither the Wolf Queen nor heron prince could offer an explanation. But both claimed Pelleas and Micaiah must have been doing what they judged to be right.

When the story was over, Caineghis moved the conversation onto his own actions here in Gallia. Apparently he’d raised an additional ten thousand troops, who were now guarding Gallia’s eastern border. Susa and the surrounding lands were well-fortified, and Caineghis even floated the idea of finding a way to block the pass entirely. “However, I want to believe peace will one day be possible with Begnion, and for that to happen, we must keep a road open between us…” he said, countering his own proposal, “For now, let us watch Begnion closely and see how they proceed.”

During the fifth and six courses, Caineghis and Tibarn traded intelligence brought in by their scouts, but neither knew what was actually happening within Begnion’s theocracy. No one knew what Sanaki was doing (if anything), if Sephiran had truly been jailed, and if so, what for. No one knew anything at all. Soren found this disturbing, but he was at least glad these two kings were comfortable speaking openly about their intelligence here at the dinner table. It saved him from having to find out what they knew later.

On that note, Caineghis finally turned the conversation directly to Ike and the mercenaries, whose table was perpendicular to his own. “Commander Ike,” he called, and Ike looked over in a way that showed he’d been listening the whole time. “I would like to know what you and the Greil Mercenaries intend to do now that your contract with the Laguz Alliance is complete.”

Ike leaned away from the table and shrugged. “I guess we’ll go back to Crimea…unless the Laguz Alliance is not quite finished yet. If that were the case-” He glanced at Soren and Titania to be certain neither disagreed with him. Titania was smiling, and Soren gave a small nod. “-the Greil Mercenaries would be interested in negotiating another contract. If you’ll have us.”

Caineghis grinned widely. “That is what I was hoping to hear.”

“But Uncle, er, My King,” Skrimir interjected, “Do you still believe there is hope for the Laguz Alliance?”

“Perhaps,” he answered reservedly, “but it will depend on what Begnion does next. If the Greil Mercenaries are willing to live here in Gallia for the summer months, we may have need of your beorc insight.”

“You’ll have our insight,” Ike replied, “and our arms if you call upon them.”

Caineghis inclined his head gratefully before turning to Tibarn. “King Tibarn,” he said. “Would you, too, be willing to combine our efforts and continue to oppose Begnion?” 

“Nothing would make me happier than to make those murderous senators pay for what they’ve done,” Tibarn replied with fire in his eyes. “Phoenicis is with you.”

While Soren poked his spoon into the feast’s desert course, he contemplated the mercenaries’ nebulous new position. They didn’t have a particular job, but they would stay in Gallia’s pocket, ready for whatever came next. He considered the possibilities:

If Begnion withdrew into itself and became consumed by infighting, the Laguz Alliance could strike in the middle of that chaos. Furthermore, if two distinct factions arose in Begnion, the Alliance could support whichever was more likely to treat the laguz with respect. This would probably be Empress Sanaki, if her past actions were any indication.

If Begnion bolstered its defenses and stabilized without falling into political turmoil, the Laguz Alliance would have to gain new allies in order to launch a second invasion. Goldoa was out of the question, and Kilvas could never be trusted again. That left Crimea as the most likely candidate, and Daein was a possibility if the laguz could offer something better than whatever Begnion was currently promising.

The final possibility, however, was the most problematic. If Begnion remained stable and grew ambitious enough to invade Gallia in retaliation, the Laguz Alliance would be in trouble. Gallia prided itself on its ability to defend its own borders, but holding out indefinitely against Begnion would be nearly impossible. Not to mention, they had Lehran’s Medallion to worry about. Their only chance might be to fend off Begnion’s initial thrust and counterattack with greater numbers than their original invasion. If they could secure Begnion’s surrender and the promise of peace talks, both laguz and beorc could come to the table with an investment in their people’s self-preservation.

“Oh would you look at that,” Titania’s voice brought Soren back to himself. “Soren’s thinking again.” She laughed, leaning on her arm.

“He doesn’t waste any time, does he?” Ike chucked from the other side.

Soren realized he hadn’t moved in several minutes, and his spoon was still sticking out of the chocolate pudding in front of him. He wasn’t hungry anymore and probably wouldn’t eat it. Everyone else’s plates were being cleared away, and servants were replacing the final course with casks of dark Gallian ale, golden fermented cider, and creamy fermented milk. Cauldrons of mulled tea were also being brought out, and Soren reached for the ladle when he finally responded to their accusations:

“I was considering potential courses of action Begnion may take, and how we could make use of the situation,” he explained. “For example, the most obvi-”

“Shh!” Ike cut him off, “Stop right there.”

“Do you not wish to hear-”

“Shhh!” he hushed him again and took the mug of tea out of Soren’s hand before he could even take a sip.

Soren kept his mouth shut this time, but he tried to express his annoyance with his eyes.

“I have a proposition,” Ike began, pouring himself a drink from the nearest barrel of ale. “You can tell me all of your thoughts and plans, but every time you mention a way we might lose or die, you have to drink. For every way we can survive or gain victory, I’ll take a drink—fair?” While he spoke, he filled a second tankard.

“Why in Tellius would I do that?” Soren replied, unamused. “You pay me for my analyses; why make me jump through hoops to deliver them?”

Titania laughed. “Really, Ike, I don’t think you’re winning this one.”

Ike, however, was untroubled by her doubt. “The reason, since you’re asking,” he explained, “is because I don’t think you’ve ever had a lick of alcohol in your life, and you should be open to new experiences.”

“Where did you get a fool idea like that?”

“Back in Goldoa,” Ike answered, unoffended. “We were talking about King Dheginsea and Titania said it reminded her of the first time she’d ever been drunk.”

Titania blushed. “I suppose I did say that. I’m afraid the effects must have been hanging about me still.”

Ike nodded. “And you said you agreed, even though you’d never had the same experience.” He pushed the second tankard toward Soren as if that little story made his game worthwhile.

Soren crossed his arms, ignoring the mug. “I meant, where did you get the idea that one needs to collect such useless experiences?” 

“You can’t tell me you’re not curious,” Ike pressed.

“I can, and I am not,” Soren replied firmly.

“What’re you doing, Boss?” Shinon sneered from the other side of the table. “You know it ain’t good for kids to drink. It’ll mess up his brain. Oh wait, his is pretty messed up already, ain’t it?”

Neither Ike nor Soren gave Shinon the attention he wanted, but Titania gave him a sharp glare. “Really, Shinon,” she reprimanded, “Don’t you ever get tired of saying the same old thing?”

While she and Shinon argued, Ike goaded Soren softly: “Prove him wrong.”

“I will not be pressured by the likes of Shinon,” Soren scoffed.

Ike sighed but didn’t lose his lighthearted tone. “C’mon, Soren. We all deserve a break. Let’s just play a game. I know you like games.”

This argument had gone on so long that Ike’s ridiculous idea of a drinking game did sound like a more enjoyable use of his time than allowing it to continue. “Fine,” he gave in, moving his fingertips to the base of the tankard.

“Really?” Ike seemed honestly surprised he’d won, but a smile spread across his lips.

“Daunted by the progress the Laguz Alliance made in its initial invasion, Begnion could come forward with a peace treaty any day now,” Soren began in a pleasant tone.

Ike looked affronted. “There’s no way they’d-”

“Drink.” Soren narrowed his eyes.

With a sigh, Ike took his first long draught.

Soren continued: “Sanaki could reclaim control of the senate and come forward with an apology and promise of reparations.”

“Wait, you really think she’d-”

“No,” Soren cut him off, “But drink.”

Ike did, but when he put his mug down, he frowned. “I’m starting to rethink the rules of this game. Maybe we should take turns.”

Just then, Boyd leaned over. “I’m with Ike,” he said. “You’ve got to take turns. And I’ll be the judge deciding what counts!” Without waiting for a reply, he skootched his chair closer and gripped his own mug between excited hands.

“Fair enough?” Ike asked Soren.

In reply, Soren just gestured that Ike should proceed.

“Hmm…” he thought, rubbing his chin. “I suppose the worst thing would be for Begnion, Kilvas, and Daein to unite and attack Gallia all at once.”

Titania leaned in with her face pinched. “Really, Ike! You’ve been spending too much time with Soren; his negativity is rubbing off on you.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty awful,” Boyd agreed. “Soren! You have to drink three times—one for each nation coming to kill us!”

Soren glared back at him. “That has nothing to do with the rules of the game.”

“I’m the judge, so I get to decide the rules,” Boyd returned confidently, “and no tiny sips, either.”

Shaking his head, Soren raised the cup and subjected himself to the foul liquid. The initial flavor was bitter like medicinal herbs, followed by the taste of rotten meat, and finally a lingering earwax-like bouquet. Apparently his displeasure showed on his face, because Ike, Boyd, and Titania all laughed.

“Two more,” Boyd reminded, and he drank obediently, finding he could ignore the flavor for the most part. “Soren’s turn!” Boyd declared.

“An army of Hatari warriors could pour across Death Desert and attack Begnion from the rear, seizing the rich lands of Culbert and freezing the Imperial Bank,” Soren proposed this time.

Ike laughed and took a drink. “We’ll have to ask Queen Nailah about that one.”

Just then, Skrimir approached them, having descended from the king’s table. He placed a hand on both Ike’s and Soren’s shoulders. “This game sounds fun!” he declared. “Let me join!”

“No can do, big guy,” Boyd replied, raising both hands as if he had no power in this situation. “This is a game of wits between Ike and Soren.”

“But my beorc strategy has much improved!” Skrimir lamented.

“You can play in the next game,” Ike promised.

“And your strategizing has not improved at all,” Soren added under his breath.

Unfortunately, this only charmed Skrimir. “Then I will watch until the winner is decided,” he said.

At this, Mist yawned and got up. “You can take my seat, Skrimir.”

He sat victoriously while everyone wished Mist a good night. “Whose turn is it?” he demanded when she was gone.

“Mine,” Ike said, rubbing his chin. “Begnion could invade Gallia through Ranulf’s secret passage,” he said, with a wicked gleam in his eye.

“What!” Skirmir cried in astonishment. “I do not like this game after all! How dare you suggest such a thing?”

This only made everyone laugh. “It’s just part of the game,” Titania consoled. “We’re thinking of worst-case scenarios.”

“Beorc games are terrible,” Skrimir said with a shake of his head.

“Anyway, that is a good one,” Boyd cut in (and his lack of surprise showed that the supposedly ‘secret’ passage had been no secret to him). “Soren, one drink for Begnion invading and another for how sad Ranulf would be about it.”

Soren glared at him, but no one came to his defense, so he played along. He wasn’t concerned for his health. He knew from experience that it took the others several cups to be affected by alcohol (except for Rhys who had a weak constitution). Soren was confident he would be fine.

“Daein and Kilvas could double-cross Begnion and unite with us,” Soren proposed. He felt foolish saying such impossible things, but he did want to try to win this game.

“Goldoa could unite with Begnion,” Ike countered.

“We could bring an army through the Kauku Caves and build a base in Serenes.” 

“Begnion could attack through Mugill Pass by dressing up in cat ears and putting all of the laguz in Susa to sleep with poisoned food,” Ike proposed, his voice cracking with laughter.

“We could dress you up in cat ears and ship you to senate as peace offering,” Soren growled back.

This made Ike laugh, and he topped off both of their drinks. “Let’s see,” he mused, “Zelgius and the Imperial Army could fly over the Erzt mountains on the backs of ravens.”

“We could fly to Sienne on the backs of hawks,” Soren parried.

“Begnion could attack by sea!” Ike said suddenly, as if proud of the idea.

“We could always just give up and sign an unconditional surrender.” Soren crossed his arms.

Boyd actually gasped at this. Then he grew indignant. “Boo!” he shouted. “Soren has to finish his drink for being such a party pooper!”

Soren glared at him, but neither Ike, Skrimir, nor anyone else was arguing against Boyd’s arbitrary rule-making. He finished his drink while Ike only took one sip, and this time Ike refilled Soren’s cup with cider instead of ale.

“Alright, let me think…” Ike began again, “Ah, here’s a bad one.” He made another dark smile. “Crimea could side with Begnion and attack us from the north!”

“Now look who’s being a party pooper,” Boyd pouted. “I should make you finish your drink for that, but I won’t. Soren, that’s too sips for you because I think you just broke Ike’s heart making him say such a terrible thing.” He shook his head. “I mean, what would Elincia think?”

Ike laughed. “Sorry, Elincia,” he said, glancing at the ceiling as if she could somehow hear him, “but I need to win this game.”

Soren shook his head, and for the first time, the room didn’t seem to settle quite right. Bunching his shoulders, he willed himself to be fine, and his vision cleared again. His cheeks felt hot, but he reasoned this could be from the temperature in the room, which was rising as everyone moved around, drank, and cajoled one another. He prepared his next statement: “We could send Reyson to the senators as a false gift of peace. Then he could murder them all at a dinner party.”

Skrimir guffawed as if it were the most hilarious thing he’d heard all evening. “Reyson would make a lovely assassin!” he boomed. “He is a very fierce fellow, you know.”

Ike shook his head and took a drink. “What if Begnion blew a tunnel through the mountains using thunder and fire mages?” he suggested.

“What if Rafiel’s message was a lie, there was no secret plot to destroy the Serenes, no messengers were actually being killed, and this is all a ploy to get a revenge for Begnion’s history of slavery?” Soren proposed next.

This made Skrimir clench his fists and glare with such fury that Soren realized he may have said the wrong thing. Everyone was silent until Boyd finally said: “Uh, that doesn’t help us win or anything. So it doesn’t count. Finish your drink as punishment.”

Soren obeyed, but Boyd flaunting his power didn’t make anyone laugh this time.

Fortunately, Ike seemed determined to get the game back on track. “How about…” he thought aloud as he refilled Soren’s drink. “Begnion finds a way through the Kauku Caves, but they do a better job than us and actually find the Gallian exit?”

“Let’s say Begnion invades Gallia,” Soren began, making everyone stare at him suspiciously, “but the Greil Mercenaries use the chaos to escape to Crimea and live out the rest of our lives peacefully.”

“That would not win us the war!” Skrimir argued.

“We would never do that,” Titania assured.

“That’s not the point of the game,” Ike countered.

“You said you would drink when I proposed a way ‘we’ could survive. Naturally, I consider ‘we’ to be the Greil Mercenaries,” Soren replied coolly.

“No,” Boyd replied firmly. “‘We’ means the Laguz Alliance—that’s what I decide. You need to finish your drink again for not coming up with a good result.”

Soren sighed and did as he was bid. The cider was at least smoother and easier to drink quickly than the ale. Ike wasted no time refilling the tankard to the top.

Then he took his turn: “Begnion could send an army of highly skilled, secret assassins right here to Zarzi.” He wiggled his fingers mysteriously.

“Begnion could fall into a civil war,” Soren began, deciding to use one of his actual plans. “The senate could lead one faction, and the apostle another. We could side with Sanaki, destroy half of Begnion, and leave it weakened for decades to come.”

“Ooh, I like that one!” Skrimir nodded approvingly.

“It _is_ a good one,” Boyd declared. “Drink up, Ike.”

Ike sipped and ran his finger over the rim of his mug. “What if we side with Sanaki and the senate still beats us. Then we’re already drawn into Begnion and stuck with no way out this time.”

Skrimir shivered visibly. “I do not like that one,” he mumbled.

“And what if a civil war in Begnion—with the addition of our involvement—tips the scales in favor of global chaos?” Soren said, hoping this would be the end of the game. He was starting to feel tired. “The dark god escapes the medallion, and the herons can do nothing to control it because—let’s face it—they do not have that power. The dark god destroys Tellius, and we all die: the Laguz Alliance, the Begnion senate, the apostle, any supposed secret assassins, Daein, Kilvas, Crimea, and the Greil Mercenaries.”

Silence hung in the air following his words, but Soren refused to retract or mitigate his statement.

“Uh, Ike’s got to drink,” Boyd finally said, “but Soren too, because, in that situation, no one wins…”

Soren did as he was told. In fact, he finished the drink to the bottom and placed it on the table with more force than intended. “If this game is over, I think I will go to bed. Skrimir can take my place.” Standing up, Soren was surprised by the sudden dizziness that washed over him. The room spun, and he realized he hadn’t been feeling the alcohol’s full effect because he hadn’t been moving. He felt foolish for not noticing his own senses becoming confounded.

He tried to step away, but his foot accidentally hooked itself on Titania’s chair leg and he stumbled. Fortunately, both Ike and Titania still had swift reflexes despite sipping their tankards throughout the meal. “Whoopsie-daisy,” Titania said, seizing one arm.

“Careful,” Ike added, taking the other.

Soren was embarrassed, and now that he was standing, he felt better. He pulled his arms away, saying firmly: “I’m fine.”

“Ike, in retrospect, I’m not sure this idea of yours was thought through,” Titania mused. “What if he’s sick and never speaks to us again?”

“I’m not going to be sick,” Soren returned, hoping he didn’t sound petulant.

“It’s Boyd who took it too far,” Ike grumbled, perhaps a little guiltily.

“Hey, you guys didn’t stop me,” Boyd laughed, leaning back in his chair.

“But he hardly drank anything,” Skrimir asked, tilting his head. “Are beorc livers so weak?”

Soren could feel himself blushing even harder at all the attention, but he also knew it was in part due to the alcohol. “I’m fine,” he repeated.

“Look, I’ll make sure he gets to bed,” Ike sighed, “And when I get back, Skrimir, I’ll show you just how strong beorc livers can be.”

Skrimir laughed. “Indeed, I will be waiting! But we will have to play a different game. That one was not very fun at all.”

“You and Boyd put your heads together,” Ike returned. “I’ll play whatever you come up with.” With that, he wrapped an arm around Soren’s back and started leading him out of the great hall.

Soren didn’t think he needed the help, but it would have been far more embarrassing to trip again. (And he couldn’t deny he appreciated Ike’s touch or the protective way he parted the crowd.)

“How are you feeling?” he asked when they reached the relatively cool and quiet corridor.

“As I have said, I am quite fine.”

“I’m sure you are,” Ike chuckled, “That’s how booze is supposed to make you feel.”

“I do not see the point in all of this,” Soren returned, but he wasn’t as annoyed as he pretended. If he was honest with himself, he’d had fun. And now that the embarrassment was behind him, he did feel remarkably relaxed.

Ike shrugged. “Everyone needs to let their guard down every once in a while,” he said, “and after the campaign we just had, I thought you deserved a break.”

“How considerate of you,” Soren returned primly. “Here I thought you were just manipulating me for your own entertainment.”

Ike chuckled again. “Alright, that might have been part of it.” They walked in easy silence until he said, “There’s a latrine up ahead; I’ve got to piss.”

“Me too,” Soren admitted, and they took a detour from the normal route to their rooms. Tucked into the communal water closet, he was surprised to find his fingers were clumsy as they tried to untie the knot cinching his trousers. And if he admitted it to himself, his peripheral vision had been becoming distorted since leaving the great hall. In theory, he knew the effects of drunkenness took time to present themselves, and he wondered which of his cups he was feeling now. He hoped it wouldn’t get much worse.

His peripheral vision being what it was, he was surprised when Ike leaned over. “Can you seriously not get that?” he chuckled. “You really are drunk. Here.” Bending over even farther, he pulled the knot with capable fingers, and Soren felt a clenching his in gut.

He pushed Ike’s arm away. “Please. I am not drunk,” he assured. “And even if I were, I wouldn’t be _that_ drunk.”

“Fine.” Ike chuckled, straightened, and attended his own business.

Focusing on emptying his bladder, Soren managed to bypass the surprise arousal, and he hoped he wasn’t blushing too obviously.

“Still feeling okay?” Ike asked when they returned to the corridor. 

“…Yes, fine,” Soren replied, but he wasn’t being honest this time.

Ike grinned as if he knew he was lying. They proceeded down the hall, and Soren focused intently on walking in a straight line because he feared Ike’s ridicule if he swayed. The task had grown harder by the time they finally neared their rooms.

“Is your head spinning yet?” Ike asked, holding the door open.

“No,” Soren answered, walking past. He was eager to get into bed and put this whole ordeal behind him.

“You sure?” Ike asked, and he reached out for Soren’s shoulder, stopping him in the center of the room. “Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Soren sighed and obeyed. The second his eyes were closed, he realized what Ike meant about the spinning. He raised his chin slightly for balance and tried to feel his feet on the floor. But a second later he started leaning, and he jolted at the sensation of falling. His eyes shot open, and he regained his balance. But Ike had his hands out on either side, ready to catch him whichever way he fell.

“I thought so.” Ike backed up, and there was a laugh in his voice. “You’re drunk.”

“Am not.”

“I’m impressed you’re not slurring your words though,” Ike mused, rubbing his chin. “How hard are you concentrating on it?”

“Oh, shut up,” Soren spat, because it was true he was focusing on his words to be certain his voice and speech weren’t affected.

Ike laughed again. “Don’t worry,” he said. “No one’s here but me, and I won’t tell anyone you’re a fallible mortal just like the rest of us.”

In response Soren just sat down at the desk and started trying to untie his shoes—but ‘try’ was the key word here.

“Let me,” Ike said, kneeling to untie his boots. Feeling like a child, Soren huffed in annoyance. But it wasn’t all bad, and he became mesmerized by the top of Ike’s head while he worked. His whole hand twitched as he fought the urge to touch it. “There,” Ike said, when he was finished. He even pulled Soren’s feet out, and the grip of his hand on his ankle send a quiver up Soren’s entire body. Standing, Ike smiled. “Get yourself ready for bed, if you can,” he teased. “I’ll fetch you some water. You’re probably not going to throw up because it’s the first time, but I’ll bring a bucket just in case.”

“I hope you’re right,” Soren found himself agreeing.

Ike grinned comfortingly. “Do you feel nauseous?”

Soren shook his head, but even that slight movement made the room spin. He didn’t need to close his eyes to feel it now.

“You’re young and this is your first time drinking, so you probably won’t get sick. You probably won’t even be hungover tomorrow, honestly.”

“I’m older than you,” Soren returned in a lowered voice. He couldn’t stand for Ike to see him as a child, just like everyone else.

“I’m young too,” Ike replied, rubbing the back of his head. “But don’t tell anyone. They think I’m a mercenary commander.”

Soren looked up at him, and for the first time in a long time, he saw the twenty-three-year-old boy behind the scarred, musclebound exterior. He supposed it was unfair to never let Ike be an innocent young man. Perhaps that was why he liked to drink with the others and let himself act foolishly every once in a while.

When he was gone, Soren set about figuring out his trousers again. After overcoming this challenge, the inner and outer layers of his robes suddenly became confusing. He got stuck in his sleeves when trying to pull his tunic over his head and then tripped over one of the boots Ike had left next to the desk chair. Leaning against the desk for support, Soren tried to control his breathing and extract himself from the clothing. Luckily Ike wasn’t back yet—that would have been too embarrassing. Taking more conscious control of his every action, Soren managed to dress himself in a pair of under-trousers and a loose shirt he found in the bottom of the wardrobe.

He was sitting on the bed, feeling the room spin with his eyes closed, when Ike finally returned with one full bucket and one empty one. “Here you go!” he said cheerily, scooping Soren a cup. “Water will make you feel better. Well, eventually.”

Soren sipped contritely. “Thank you,” he said, but instead of leaving, Ike sat backward at the desk chair. “I’ll be fine. You can return to Skrimir and the others.”

Ike shook his head. “Ah, they’re probably having plenty of fun even without me. I’d rather make sure you’re okay. I mean, this was my idea.”

Soren continued to sip the water. He felt his head was swaying on his shoulders now, even though he knew it wasn’t. He wondered why anyone would voluntarily subject themselves to this experience. But the longer he looked at Ike, the more his tongue seemed to become unknotted. It wanted to speak—to say things that shouldn’t be said. He supposed this feeling could be freeing if it weren’t so dangerous. He kept his mouth firmly closed.

“You should try to go to sleep,” Ike recommended. “It might be hard because of the spinning, but I’ll be right here if you throw up or if you need anything.”

Soren nodded, placed the now-empty cup on the bedside table, and moved himself under the blanket. He stared at the ceiling, no longer able to look at Ike without his heart hurting. The sharp twist away from happiness had come fast and unexpectedly. He wondered if this had something to do with the alcohol too. Perhaps it was making his mind fickle.

Ike repositioned the two buckets on the floor and refilled the cup. Then he shuttered the lantern until the room was barely lit.

“There is no reason for you to stay,” Soren told the dark.

Ike pushed the desk chair closer and sat down again. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just stay until you fall asleep.”

Soren did feel tired, but with his eyes closed, the room spun faster. He felt he wasn’t in a bed but on a raft in the tumultuous ocean. He sank deeper and deeper, until the darkness enveloping him didn’t move as much. He floated in and out of hazy dreams and half-consciousness. In some of the dreams, he heard Ike’s voice singing Elena’s galdr lullabies, but that was impossible. Ike didn’t sing, and even if he did, surely his voice could never have been as gentle as this.

In other dreams, Soren saw Dheginsea transform into a terrible dragon even larger and more fearsome than Rajaion’s twisted form. He was on a rampage, trampling, slaughtering, and burning innocents and soldiers in every battlefield Soren had ever fought on. In Begnion, in Daein, even outside Fort Alpea in Crimea—the Dragon King crushed the gibbet and roasted friend and foe alike with blue fire.

Soren tried to escape, but no matter where he ran, he always arrived at another battlefield. In the Kauku Caves, the dragon’s massive head appeared amidst the smoke and radiating heat. With lava at his back, there was nowhere Soren could run. Slowly, the dragon opened its terrifying maw.

But then Ike was there. He stabbed the dragon through its mouth, piercing the fire glowing in the back of its throat. The beast shrieked the same terrible roar Soren had heard that day in the Melior Royal Library. Then it collapsed, turning back into a man. But it was no longer Dheginsea. It was his son: Kurthnaga, the boy he’d seen on the Goldoan coast all those years ago. But the dragon prince’s features were blurry and starting to run like wet paint.

Bile and abject terror rose in Soren’s throat, despite the fact that the boy dragon had been defeated. Looking around, he saw that Ike was gone. The lava, too, was gone. Everything was disappearing.

Soren awoke to find his skin and scalp damp with sweat. Breathing hard, he bent over his bedside, wondering if he was about to be sick. It was only then that he realized Ike was still there, snoring soundly in the chair, with his feet kicked up on the desk. The lantern was still burning at a low glow, and Soren had no idea how much time had passed. Deciding he wasn’t going to throw up, he drank the cup of water and refilled it. Drinking again, he willed his heart to slow, his mind to clear, and his dream to leave him.

He rarely had nightmares anymore, but this one reminded him of a time when he’d had them too often. Just as Greil had recalled in his note, Soren had struggled with his dreams every night after moving in with the family. Back then, Ike had spoken to him, comforted him, stayed awake with him, and held his hand until he fell asleep.

Staring at Ike’s hand dangling over the chair’s arm, Soren wondered if he remembered that time. Perhaps that was why he’d felt compelled to stay with him tonight. Whatever the reason, Soren was grateful.


	13. CHAPTER 79: QUEEN ELINCIA

When Soren awoke, sunlight was streaming through the window and Ike was gone. It was still early, however, so he decided to turn over and go back to sleep. He slept until noon, which was quite unlike him. When he finally got out of bed, his mouth was dry and his bladder was full, but he didn’t have a headache, nausea, or any of the unpleasant symptoms of a hangover. In retrospect, last night seemed like a bad idea, but nothing that had occurred had been so terrible that he actually regretted it.

He washed, dressed, and ate lunch with the other mercenaries. He was certainly not the only one for whom this meal was actually breakfast, but he was the best-looking of the late risers, many of whom were still wearing the same clothes as last night. Gatrie hadn’t even wiped the dried drool from the side of his mouth, and Shinon was banging his mug on the counter, demanding more coffee from the Gallian servant glaring at him.

Ike finally appeared, and although he yawned groggily, he was at least clean. “Did you go back down to the feast last night?” Soren asked when Ike sat down near him.

“Yeah, for a little bit—long enough to see Skrimir dance,” he added with a smirk.

“It was very traditional,” Mia added, “and _very_ awkward.”

“Did you sleep alright?” Ike asked in return.

“Yes,” Soren answered. “And…thank you.”

Ike waved his hand as if to say he should forget about it, but Soren didn’t think he could. He finished his meal, and so began the first of many pleasant days in the Beast Kingdom.

For three months, the Greil Mercenaries stayed in Gallia. Other than a couple trips to check the defenses around Susa, they mostly stayed in Zarzi—training, sparring, attending meetings, and spending their free time however they saw fit. Most of the mercenaries reclaimed hobbies they’d abandoned before the war, and in this way, they found some much-needed peace.

Tibarn and his hawks flew back to Phoenicis for a few weeks to determine that everyone was safe and life was returning to something close to normal after the massacre. Then he returned to Gallia, bringing with him over a thousand fresh recruits—most of whom were young men and women seeking revenge after losing loved ones to Begnion’s dracoknights.

As summer drew on, scouts and spies eventually reported that the senate had firm control of the Imperial Army, which was now dividing into two main groups. One was sitting on Mugill and Flaguerre, ready to launch an invasion at a moment’s notice. The other—which consisted of a large portion of the Central Army—had passed through Daein and was currently marching through Crimea to attack Gallia’s northern border.

Ike and Titania were clearly shocked when they received the news, but Soren had feared something like this might happen. Elincia had repeatedly refused offers to join the Laguz Alliance, which meant Crimea was fair game for Begnion to exploit. Gallia’s northern border was wider, more open, and far more difficult to defend. If Begnion struck from the north, signaled their forces in the east, and coordinated their attacks, Gallia wouldn’t stand a chance. Needless to say, the Greil Mercenaries’ vacation was over.

The messenger who’d brought the news led Ike, Soren, and Titania straight to Caineghis’s chambers. Giffca, Tibarn, Nailah, Skrimir, Ranulf, and the three heron siblings were already here, sitting around a long stone table. Maps were laid out on it, and marble statuettes showed where various forces were deployed.

“According to our scouts,” Ranulf began, “the enemy has split into two forces. One is east of the Ertz Mountains. The other is approaching from the north by crossing through Crimea.” Soren listened while skimming through the stack of reports someone had left in front of his seat. 

“So they plan on flanking Gallia from the north and east?” Tibarn noted grimly. “If we don’t stop them, this is gonna hurt.”

“Agreed,” said Caineghis from the head of the table. “What is the Crimean Army doing?”

“From what the scouts have said, nothing at all,” Ranulf admitted, “I’m guessing they’re waiting to see how everything pans out.”

“Crimea let Begnion pass without a fight?” Skrimir growled. “What about their alliance with Gallia!”

“It’s not that simple, Skrimir,” Ranulf explained with a shake of his head. “Begnion is Crimea’s suzerain state. It’s difficult for Crimea to refuse their demands.”

“A suz-what?” Skrimir repeated grumpily. “Someone, explain to me what that means.”

Soren wasn’t interested in playing the role of Skrimir’s teacher right now, so he focused on the reports while leaving someone else to answer. According to the one he was currently reading, Begnion was raiding Crimean towns for supplies as they marched. But Elincia had deployed the Royal Knights to do little more than repair the damage.

“Hmmm, how can I explain…” Ranulf massaged his temples. “Alright, how’s this? Begnion still holds political power over the countries that won independence from them.” When Skrimir didn’t reply, Ranulf looked beseechingly at Ike. “Anything you want to add, Ike?”

“Don’t look at me.” Ike pressed his back into the chair. “I’ve always thought the whole idea was ridiculous.”

Soren agreed with Ike’s assessment, but the situation was more complicated than merely winning independence and being free to self-govern. He could point out the fact that many of the Crimean noble houses shared blood and a history of marriages with Begnion noble families. Even Elincia’s grandmother had been a pegasus knight in the apostle’s Holy Guard. But now wasn’t the time to complicate matters, and as Ike had said, Crimea pretending its hands were tied by obligation now was, indeed, ridiculous. There had to be another reason Elincia wasn’t acting.

“Never mind what it means,” Skrimir finally decided, moving his fists to the table. “Has Crimea broken its treaty with us?”

“Not…as such,” Ranulf answered uneasily. “I didn’t say it was right, just that it was complicated…”

“It’s not complicated at all! Crimea has betrayed Gallia! We cannot let this pass! How dare-”

“Control yourself, Skrimir,” Caineghis warned in a soft yet powerful voice. “You’re acting like a fool.”

“My apologies, Your Majesty.” Skrimir was obviously trying to control his rage. “It is just-”

“I doubt Crimea has sided with Begnion,” Caineghis continued. “Queen Elincia is very clever, and I will not stop trusting her judgement just yet. She most likely allowed the Imperial Army to pass through her lands in order to avoid a slaughter.”

“Who is this beorc queen who warrants so much trust?” asked Nailah from her position at the corner of the table. “Please enlighten us.” She gestured smoothly at Rafiel and herself.

“She is a delightful woman,” Caineghis replied, “both in manner and in reign. Her late father, King Ramon, and I forged an alliance between beorc and laguz. We sought to bring our peoples closer. She has taken her father’s ideals as her own and strives to create a country where anyone, beorc or laguz, can live free and in peace.”

“How times have changed…” Rafiel murmured, and Soren was fairly certain this was only the second time he’d ever heard the heron speak. “I never could have dreamed of a time where such a beorc ruler would exist… I must admit, I still have doubts.”

“I don’t blame you, my brother,” Reyson replied, not nearly as soft-spoken as Rafiel. He had one arm on the table, and his wings were bunched tightly. “Change has been slow, but the circle of acceptance in Tellius has been widening. As you can see, both Leanne and I have many beorc friends.” He jerked his chin toward Ike, Titania, and Soren. “Queen Elincia of Crimea is one of them.”

“Both the King and Reyson speak well of this woman!” Skrimir observed, aghast. “Is she truly so special?”

“She truly is,” Ike promised. “But right now, that’s beside the point. The most important thing is this: Elincia will never betray her allies in Gallia.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Ranulf agreed, his inner turmoil apparently alleviated. “We can trust her.”

“Alright.” Caineghis drew his fingers together and stared at the map closest to him—a map of southeastern Crimea. “Let’s assume for now that Crimea will not aid the empire in any military fashion during this conflict. Hawk King, let’s hear your thoughts.”

“Well, if Crimea won’t make a move,” Tibarn sighed, leaning back so he could kick one leg over the other. “Then I see no reason to wait until the empire reaches Gallia. I’d prefer to take an army up north and end this mess for good.” He didn’t seem concerned with the details outlined on the map, but Soren was rushing through the reports trying to find out who was leading that hefty force of statuettes.

“Very well.” Caineghis nodded. “Ike, do the Greil Mercenaries have anything to add?”

In answer, Ike just gestured to Soren, which startled him at first. But he wasted no time answering: “I agree with Tibarn’s idea. We should strike while their army is split in half… But I am fairly certain General Zelgius will be there. We had better be careful.”

“Very well.” Caineghis turned to Tibarn. “Hawk King, may I ask that your forces protect the eastern border? While they do that, I would like you to lead our strike force to the northern border. Take Ranulf with you as well.”

Tibarn was smiling and about to answer when Skrimir cut him off: “Send me too, Your Majesty!” He pushed back his chair so he was standing. “Please, let me reclaim my honor! I beg you.”

Caineghis didn’t seem convinced, but before he could decide, Ranulf spoke up: “I second that, Your Majesty. Skrimir is perfect for this mission.”

“Ranulf?” Skrimir turned to him, looking immensely grateful. 

“Very well,” Caineghis consented. “Will you look after him, Tibarn?”

Now the Hawk King’s grin grew wider. “Sure, I can handle him,” he said with a wink. “He’s easier to keep under control than you, Beast King.”

“Hmph,” Caineghis scoffed, while Giffca chuckled farther down the table. “He’s all yours them. Prepare to leave before daybreak. We are all depending on you.”

Five thousand troops marched out of Zarzi with Tibarn, Skrimir, Ranulf, and the Greil Mercenaries in the lead. Two thousand more joined them when they passed Susa, having been replaced on guard by Tibarn’s hawks. A couple days later, Caineghis and Giffca (both of whom evidently had incredible speed and endurance when running in their beast forms), caught up to them. The king escorted them the rest of the way to the border, saying he wanted to be able to monitor the war more closely.

Once they actually reached the border, the army took a day’s rest before crossing. Ranulf had sent a messenger ahead asking Elincia for permission to enter her lands, but so far, no reply had come. Now they were just doing some last-minute reconnaissance before heading out. Zelgius’s Central Army had made a lot of progress these past two weeks, and Soren estimated they’d be facing them in just a few days.

When it was finally time to move out, they encountered no resistance at the border. The tower they passed appeared empty, and there were no Royal Knights or soldiers posted on the road. Soren wondered if Elincia had called back her guards to get them out of Begnion’s way, to get them out of Gallia’s way, or simply to amass her troops elsewhere, for her own purposes.

Four days later, they still hadn’t met any resistance from Crimea, and it was today they would meet the Imperial Army in battle. Their enemy numbered ten thousand, and the field between the two armies was wide open, offering little cover or terrain advantage. Soren was certain this was going to be a bloodbath. Each army would fight their hardest, decimating the other until one side lost too many soldiers to continue.

Although Zelgius must have known the direction and speed of their approach, Soren was surprised he hadn’t picked a more advantageous battleground or taken the time to establish fortifications. For a man who claimed to dislike pointless bloodshed, he wasn’t doing anything to prevent it. This lack of good judgement made him doubt Zelgius was truly in charge, but numerous scouts had confirmed it.

Then again, those same scouts had also reported that a senator was traveling with the army. It was quite possible the overeager politician had forced Zelgius to choose this battlefield. If so, the senator could prove to be a vulnerability in the general’s defense, like at the Ribahn River. Soren just didn’t know how to exploit it yet.

And he didn’t have much time to figure it out. The two armies were face to face now. Zelgius had positioned longbowmen on the hill to the north, so Tibarn stopped the Laguz Alliance army such that the front line was just a hairsbreadth beyond their range. For now, no one moved, but that could change at any second. To settle their nerves, the soldiers on both sides started yelling at each other.

“Insects of Begnion!” roared a Gallian soldier. “We’ll show you the power of the beast tribe!”

“Beorc scum!” cried one of the few Phoenician soldiers in Tibarn’s personal guard, “For the razing of our homes, we’ll make you wish you’d never been born!”

“Filthy subhumans!” returned a Begnion halberdier at the base of the hill. “This war ends now. Prepare yourselves!”

The shouting and jeering continued until Soren couldn’t tease apart the overlapping voices. The seconds ticked by, but Tibarn didn’t give the order to attack. Soren knew why—the second they were within range of Begnion’s archers, they would be at a disadvantage. However, neither was Zelgius ordering his troops to charge. At this rate, the battle would begin when either the laguz or beorc soldiers on the frontlines finally lost their patience and ran first.

But just then, Soren noticed movement in the west. Something massive was cresting the hill: another army. For a moment, the worst-case scenario leapt into Soren’s mind and he feared they were being broadsided by a secret force. But if that were the case, this third army had aimed their attack all wrong. They were heading straight for the intersection of the two armies, not for the Laguz Alliance’s western flank.

By now, everyone was shouting about the new arrivals instead of at each other. “A beorc army is approaching from the hill to the left!” cried a Gallian soldier. “That flag… It’s the Crimean Army!”

“Crimea has sided with the empire after all!” despaired another.

Tibarn gestured that the Laguz Alliance should move back a few yards but stay on guard, and a cat laguz with a drum repeated the order for everyone to hear. “Elincia,” Ike muttered under his breath, while the entire army shuffled backward. “What are you doing…”

Even while he said it, Elincia’s pegasus leapt into the sky, and the young queen came gliding down the aisle between the two armies—entirely alone. She stopped in the middle and dismounted. “I am Queen Elincia of Crimea!” she declared, moving her neck so she could project her voice to both sides. “I have a message for the commanders of both armies!”

Tibarn flew to the front, where he landed and strode up to her with his hands on his hips. His Phoenician guards (including Janaff and Ulki) stayed behind. Meanwhile, commotion arose within Begnion’s ranks as a nobleman with curly brown hair moved to the frontlines while encased in a wall of his personal guards. In fact, the man’s hair was all Soren could see past the red-armored knights.

When he was within earshot, Elincia continued her announcement. “I am here to declare the will of Crimea and its people!” she said, looking from Tibarn to the senator. “Crimea has been ruled under the ideals of peace and equality since the reign of my father, King Ramon. As such, I cannot and will not allow you to spill blood upon our land! Therefore… I demand that both the Laguz Alliance and the Imperial Army leave Crimea at once!” She cast out both of her arms, indicating which direction she would like them each to go.

“Withdraw our troops?” repeated the senator in a high, reedy voice. “You foolish girl! We will not be ordered about by the proclamations of a peasant like you! Puppet rulers such as yourself should stay inside their pretty castles and play dress-up. Begnion’s patience has worn out. After we finish slaughtering the subhumans, we’ll be coming for you in Melior.” He seemed worn out by his own tirade, and his voice lapsed into an angry wheeze.

Elincia had listened to him speak with a calm, patient expression. Now that he was finished, she turned to Tibarn. “Commander of the Laguz Alliance, how do you respond?”

Tibarn crossed his arms and leaned back as if assessing Elincia. “You have some serious guts, jumping into the middle of a battlefield all by yourself,” he said with grudging respect. “But your high-and-mighty beliefs don’t change the fact that Begnion must answer for its crimes. Step aside.”

Elincia’s face was as untouched by his judgment as it had been by the senator’s threatening. “…Very well,” she declared, “I have heard from both commanders. In that case-” She drew her sword—the holy blade Amiti, if Soren remembered correctly. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she chucked the sword carelessly into the field. It sailed gracefully, and where it landed, the long grass swallowed it whole. “This is Crimea’s answer!” she declared, holding out her arms as if to display her empty palms. “We will not sway from our ideals. My countrymen stand united. We will not use force. But we are willing to do whatever it takes to end this here and now.”

“What!” squeaked the senator. “Have you lost your mind?”

Tibarn, on the other hand, starting laughing. Moving his hands to his stomach, he leaned over, his entire body shaking with the guffaws. Then, righting himself, he twisted to look straight at Ike. “Ike!” he called, “I thought you were the craziest beorc I’d ever met, but you have some serious competition! Queen Crimea is one tough gal!” Wiping his eyes, he turned back to her. “Your Majesty, I like your style,” he declared with a nod. Then he raised his hand and turned to look at Skrimir this time. “Skrimir! I can’t let such a brave woman down. Let’s get out of here.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “The beast tribe will not use our claws against unarmed beorc. Soldiers, back to the forest!” At his urging, the vast majority of the troops retreated. But Tibarn hadn’t moved, which meant Reyson, Janaff, Ulki, and the rest of his guards were lingering too. Ranulf had elected to stay as well, so his entourage (including Kyza, Lyre, Lethe, and Mordecai) hadn’t budged either. Ike gestured for the mercenaries to standby—not that they were about to go anywhere if he wasn’t.

“Thank you, King Tibarn,” Elincia said when she must have judged Skrimir and the army were far enough away that this wasn’t a trick.

“This is only temporary,” Tibarn warned. He raised a finger as if to show he was serious, but it only made him look like an old man trying to reprimand a young woman. “The war between the Laguz Alliance and Begnion isn’t finished yet.”

“Yes, I understand that,” Elincia admitted, but her proud bearing didn’t waver. “Even so, I want you all to know where Crimea stands in this.”

“Well, maybe you and I can get together and chat sometime soon,” Tibarn offered. “I’ll be seeing you again.”

With that, he started walking away, and the remaining laguz and mercenaries went with him. But Soren was one of the last to turn, because the Begnion army hadn’t moved at all yet (except for the senator and his guards, who’d left the frontlines without giving Elincia an answer). Soren didn’t like exposing his back to the enemy, and he knew the others didn’t like it either. Tibarn threw an arm around Ike and Ranulf’s shoulders, but his own shoulders and wing plates were visibly bunched. He was only pretending to relax (and not even convincingly). “Ike, Ranulf, I’m going to catch up with Skrimir,” he said in a lowered voice, “You take Reyson and the others and hide behind that stretch of trees.” He pointed, but it wasn’t necessary. There were few trees anywhere on the field, and only one copse near them.

“Um, I think she’ll see us,” Ranulf countered.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tibarn growled. “Elincia has grown into a damn good queen, but she might still need her friends’ help.” He jerked his head toward the Crimean Army in the east. “If Begnion doesn’t retreat, they’ll be crushed. Help save her if you can.”

“Can do,” agreed Ike.

“We’ll keep an eye on the situation,” promised Ranulf.

With that, Tibarn knocked their heads together like an older brother and took to the sky with one massive thrust of his wings. He shrank into the south, but the mercenaries and remaining laguz tucked themselves less-than-covertly behind a copse of birch, elm, and willow. Then they moved as close to the Imperial Army as the trees would allow.

Peering between the trunks and branches, Soren waited to see what Begnion and Crimea would do. Elincia had not yet retrieved her sword, and her full attention was on the red-armored troops. The senator was gone, and Zelgius hadn’t come forward to treat with her. The soldiers in front looked confused. Some were tapping the butts of their spears against the ground while others shifted their weight from foot to foot. Still others were twisting to look behind them, clearly desperate for orders. Meanwhile the Crimean Army was keeping its distance. Geoffrey was visible at the front, his steed prancing nervously. Soren had no doubt he wanted to be at Elincia’s side.

Then, finally, Zelgius called a retreat. The soldiers in the back started moving first, but soon everyone was climbing the hill or walking around it, showing their backs to the Crimeans. The mercenaries breathed a collective sigh of relief, and out in the field, Elincia looked relieved too. She didn’t pick up her blade, but she walked over to her pegasus. Taking its head in her hands, she pressed her forehead against its cheek. 

“I guess we weren’t needed after all,” Ike noted contentedly.

“I don’t want to go back yet…” Mist admitted, glancing at where Skrimir’s army was almost out of sight. “Do we have time to talk to Elincia?”

“It has been a long time since we last saw the Queen,” Titania agreed. “We should at least say hello.”

“Sure, sounds great to me,” Ranulf answered, addressing Mist. “There’s probably only time for small talk, but we’ll see.”

Just then, a shrill voice called from the north: “Soldiers! Kill the queen of Crimea! That girl is a traitor to Begnion!”

Soren wasn’t the only one who heard it, and a moment later, everyone was pushing to the edge of the trees to get a better view. The senator was standing atop the hill, pointing straight at Elincia. His long, curly hair and frilly robes were waving in the breeze, and he might have cut an impressive figure if not for his eccentric outfit. Soldiers were spilling around him, flooding back down the hill.

“Woah, this isn’t good!” Ranulf transformed suddenly, as if startled into it. “The army is on the move. They’re after Queen Elincia!”

“So much for imperial honor,” Ike growled. “Greil Mercenaries! Looks like we have our old job back! Protect Queen Elincia!” He drew his sword and started running at the same time the mercenaries—and even the hawks and beasts among them—cheered and roared in agreement. They burst through the trees a moment later, heading straight for Elincia.

Meanwhile the queen had hopped onto her pegasus. She agilely dodged volleys of arrows while Geoffrey, Lucia, and the rest of the Crimean Army charged down the western hill to reach her. But Elincia couldn’t get away fast enough. One arrow caught her in the shoulder, and her pegasus’s wings were shredded by three more. Feathers sailed to the ground, and she was losing altitude.

“Kill every living thing that stands in our way!” screamed the senator. “Show them that I—no the Senate—controls this pathetic land!”

With Elincia riding the wind southeast, the mercenaries were able to intercept Begnion’s charge, thereby breaking their momentum and distracting their aim. Dozens, even hundreds of troops were still coming back to the field, and Soren didn’t know if the entire army was attacking or simply a faction that had split from Zelgius’s command. Only time would tell, but Soren truly hoped it was the latter. A thousand they could handle; ten thousand they could not.

Just then, the Crimean Army finally arrived, and the Begnion soldiers fanned out. No one seemed to be leading them except for the senator on the hill, but even he had suddenly disappeared. Confusion reigned for several minutes while the soldiers tried to remember their training and consolidate into more sustainable attack formations. Some field marshals eventually took charge, but in the meantime, the Crimean Royal Knights were able to surround and protect their queen.

Now that Elincia was in good hands, Ike changed the trajectory of the mercenaries’ attack. “Let’s find who’s in charge here and crush him!” Ike shouted, pointing the tip of his blade to the top of the hill. The mercenaries bellowed their agreement while charging straight into the nearest platoon.

Titania, Oscar, and Mist were the only ones on horseback, but they did a good job breaking the Begnions’ line and trampling them under-hoof. Mordecai, Kyza, and a couple other tigers were right beside them, also plowing through the soldiers before they could get out of the way. Ranulf, Lethe, and Lyre went to the left while the other cats when to the right. And Haar, Jill, Janaff, Ulki, and the hawks flew over the platoon, penning them in from the back. Finally, Ike led everyone else straight to the center. Like the tip of a spear, be plunged deep within Begnion’s ranks, and from here he spun outward, twisting and turning, slaughtering soldiers left and right, left and right, left and right. Around and around. Soren was mesmerized, imagining Ike had been cultivating a strange power since their defeat at Gaddos—vengeance.

The other mercenaries were right beside him, drawing strength from his vigor. Reyson floated above their heads, dodging arrows and javelins. Wreathed in golden light, he chanted ancient songs that fell from his lips like curse. The galdr strengthen the mercenaries it fell upon, and Soren couldn’t tell if he or Ike was having the more exhilarating effect.

Although he was relatively far from Ike and Reyson, Soren could still feel their power distinctly. He, Rhys, and Ilyana had resisted the temptation to charge into the middle with the others, because it was simply not where they were most valuable. Shinon and Rolf had held back too, and they were firing arrows alternatingly into the fray and at any stray soldier who was came scuttling around the outside. Soren had a similar job: summoning the winds to take out any stray attackers, stop any members of the besieged platoons from escaping, and watching out for another platoon coming to the rescue. When this inevitably happened, Soren, Ilyana, and Rhys were the first to confront them. Rhys’s increasingly frequent pops of light and Ilyana’s whip-cracks of lightning were a signal to the rest that the enemy was approaching, even if their shouts were lost in the crush of noise.

“*Spirits of the wind, rip apart these skies, lay waste to my enemy!*” Soren chanted a Tornado spell, willing it to become vast enough to keep the approaching platoon at bay while the rest of the mercenaries and laguz could reorganize themselves for the next strike. Wind magic always worked best in wide open places like this, and the spirits were strong here. Soren threw out his arms, commanding the swirling torrent to spread wider. Soldiers screamed and scattered, and Soren ended the spell with one final burst of energy, sending spikes of wind into anyone still caught within the spell’s radius.

By the time this was done, he heard a stampede of hooves and paws behind him. Titania flew past on his left and Oscar on his right. The laguz repeated their coordinated attack, and then Ike was running past—clapping him on the shoulder as he went. Soren saw blood in his teeth in the split second their eyes met, but Ike was grinning widely. When he reached the soldiers, he smashed open their helms and rent their breastplates with brute strength.

Turning to a page of Elwind spells, Soren was intent on helping him. Right now, that meant not allowing the mercenaries to become surrounded. Brom and Nephenee had split off to guard Shinon and Rolf, who were now firing frantically into a column of soldiers circling around from the east. Soren was determined to stop as many of them as possible before they arrived.

While he sliced and divided their snake-like column, Soren cast his gaze around the battlefield and ascertained that the Begnion forces had ceased arriving. It seemed only three thousand had followed the senator’s order to attack. The rest (Zelgius included) were already far away, nothing but a smudge on a distant hill, about to be swallowed by a green cornfield. As for the senator, he’d disappeared, and Soren could only assume the man had never had any intention of actually putting himself in danger.

The soldiers reached him, and Soren began weaving more defensive wind spells instead. Slowly he walked backward, ducking and dodging attacks until more of the mercenaries came to help. Eventually they did, and together they killed the remaining soldiers on this side.

Turning his attention to the west, Soren could see that the Crimean Army was handling the majority of the Begnion forces. However, true to Elincia’s ideals, they weren’t trying to gain an inch of ground. The army was merely staying in place where they’d first reunited with their queen, and here they maintained a defensive circle, slaughtering the soldiers trying to attack them from all sides. Number-wise, they were evenly matched.

Since Elincia was clearly not going to do it, Ike ordered his troops to push ahead. The distance between them and the Crimeans grew, and this made the mercenaries more vulnerable. On the other hand, since the Crimeans were luring away most of the Begnion forces, neither were the mercenaries being entirely overwhelmed.

Ike pushed up the gently sloping hill, apparently unconcerned that the mercenaries were massively outnumbered. They fought relentlessly to stay by his side, and Ike didn’t slow down until he set eyes on a bow paladin who appeared to have taken charge of the Begnion assault. “That’s him,” Ike decided and signaled Ranulf to attack from the opposite side. The rest of the mercenaries spread out, clearing and defending the top of the hill from the angry soldiers they’d just blown past.

When Soren had a chance, he assessed the man in charge. Judging by his simple armor and minimal badges, he wasn’t anyone important, perhaps only a rear-guard commander. But he was sitting his horse with pride and had refused to call a retreat, which meant he was certainly an overconfident, overambitious idiot. “Fools! How dare you fight my master?” he demanded when Ike and Ranulf stalking toward him on either side. “He is Senator Valtome, Duke of Culbert!”

His horse pranced nervously, swaying left and right as if debating which was more threatening: the large cat or sword-wielding human. When they were within range, the paladin started firing arrows at both of them. At the same time, he kicked his horse into a canter and, using his knees, guided it in a circle around Ranulf. But Ranulf chased him back, avoiding the arrows and nipping at his horse’s hindlegs until it was heading straight for Ike. The man changed direction again, but the pair kept coordinating their attacks, tiring the horse and confusing its rider. Then, finally, Ranulf pounced. He knocked the man from his saddle, and both tumbled through the field. Ike struck down with a killing blow before he could rise.

Soren watched all of this while shooting sporadic Wind or Thunder spells into whatever soldier felt brave enough to try to intervene. But in truth, there were few left; most of the survivors were running north now, probably regretting their decision to follow the witless senator. 

“Phew!” Ranulf stretched his back and reverted his form. “Begnion’s finally given up,” he sighed, watching the soldiers run for their lives. “That took some doing.”

“Tell me about it,” Ike agreed, plunging his sword into the scabbard on his back. “But we did get some good information out of all this. Now we know for sure that there are some serious leadership problems in the Imperial Army. I’m glad General Zelgius was honorable enough to withdraw. If the full strength of the two armies had clashed, Elincia’s effort would’ve been wasted.” Ike turned around, and it was just in time to see Geoffrey trotting up the hill.

Ike and Ranulf went to meet him, and Soren and Titania followed.

“Sir Ike!” Geoffrey called when he arrived, “Sir Ranulf! Thank you for helping to save Queen Elincia.”

Ike crossed his arms and leaned back with a small smirk. “Geoffrey,” he greeted him in return, “I’m really surprised you let her do such a dangerous thing. You must be more relaxed these days.”

“It wasn’t easy for me, as you could guess,” Geoffrey admitted with a shake of his head, “But I can never really say no to Queen Elincia. What choice did we have?”

“You didn’t have any,” Ike agreed, “and you all did what needed to be done.” He turned his gaze to the Crimean Army, which had spread out now. Most of the cavalry had dismounted, and Elincia and a couple of bishops were using Heal staves on the injured. “I’m really impressed,” Ike finished, his voice becoming quieter. “Crimea’s become quite strong.”

“Don’t talk like such a stranger,” Geoffrey replied. “The Greil Mercenaries are also from Crimea. You’re part of that strength.” He bent his neck respectfully.

“True,” Ike said, his voice returning. “I am very proud of my homeland.”

“Let us go see Her Majesty,” Geoffrey suggested, pivoting his steed in a tight circle. “You do have time to speak with her, correct?”

“Sure do!” Ranulf agreed. “In fact, we were hoping to do that before all this mess with the senator’s forces.”

“I think Tibarn wanted to speak to Elincia too,” Ike added.

Geoffrey nodded. “Let us see what she says.”

The mercenaries followed him down the hill and across the valley to unite with the Crimean Army. When they arrived, Lucia was returning Elincia’s sword, saying, “Try not to lose this again! It’s a royal heirloom. Really!”

Elincia just laughed and slid the sabre into the sheath hanging against her hip. The wound on her shoulder had been healed, and she seemed no worse for her ordeal. “Ah, if it isn’t the brave Greil Mercenaries,” she greeted them when she saw Ike and Geoffrey approaching. She inclined her head slightly, and Titania and some of the other mercenaries bowed. But Ike and Soren did not. “I had heard you were serving with the Laguz Alliance. I’m glad to see you well, and I am grateful that you stayed to help. Did the enemy commander say anything of value?”

Ike shook his head. “Not really.”

Elincia set her mouth in grim line. “I am disturbed by Begnion’s actions,” she declared. “If the Laguz Alliance is willing to share any information they have acquired, I would welcome you in Melior. Crimea will not fight in this war, but perhaps there is some way we can work together and put an end to this conflict.”

Ike was clearly taken aback, and Soren was pleasantly surprised. “Okay,” Ike said simply.

“Convey my invitation to King Tibarn and send word to King Caineghis as well,” Elincia added. “I want everyone together if we are to discuss a peaceful resolution.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ike promised.

With that, Elincia mounted her pegasus. “We leave for Melior now. I hope you will catch up to us by tomorrow.”

“See you soon,” Ike replied, raising one hand.

With that, Elincia turned to her troops and ordered them to move out. While they trotted away, the mercenaries and laguz headed south, eager to share Elincia’s invitation.

“Looks like Crimea is still our ally after all,” Ranulf sighed happily.

Ike frowned at him. “You really doubted that?”

“Er, I mean, of course not, but, well, for a little bit there…” Ranulf blushed, and Ike chuckled, waving his hand to let him off the hook.

“There is the still the question of what Crimea can actually do for us,” Soren pointed out. “Elincia’s good intentions aside, her nation does not actually have the clout to broker a peace deal.”

“Well, I suppose time will tell,” Titania countered optimistically, “But I trust we may find a way out of this yet.”

“Me too,” Ike agreed, but Soren wasn’t so sure.

When they reached basecamp, Tibarn readily agreed to Elincia’s offer and immediately sent his fastest messenger to Gallia. “That old rascal will want to be here for this,” he said (referring to Caineghis). Soren just hoped the Begnion forces in Mugill wouldn’t attack while the king was gone.

The Laguz Alliance caught up with the Crimean Army the next day, and Caineghis and Giffca caught up five days later, bringing with them Nailah, Rafiel, Leanne, and all two thousand of Tibarn’s hawks. Soren wondered what information or instinct had inspired the Beast King to bring reinforcements. (And although she must be wondering too, at least Elincia didn’t seem offended.)

The bolstered Laguz Alliance and Crimean Army marched side by side, and they were just two days from Melior when Elincia’s scouts returned saying that the entire Central Army was no longer on course to leave Crimea.

“Did Zelgius lose control of that senator again?” Ike asked no one in particular

“No one could be foolish enough to attack us at the capital with those numbers,” Geoffrey said with a shake of his head.

“We must wait and see what Begnion will do,” Elincia declared. Then she turned to the scout: “Tell us everything you saw.”

According to the scout and his comrades, the Central Army had met up with a battalion of two-thousand pegasus knights: the Holy Guard. Now those two thousand pegasi, plus fifteen hundred infantry and five hundred cavalry were marching toward Melior. Meanwhile Zelgius and the five thousand remaining troops appeared to be returning to Begnion as instructed.

If the entire Holy Guard was in Crimea, Soren could only assume the empress was here as well. This could be a very good thing or a very bad thing, depending on the conditions under which she left Begnion and what she hoped to achieve when she reached Melior.

Whatever the case, it was certainly an interesting development, and Soren wondered what might happen if the empress of Begnion, the queen of Crimea, the king of Gallia, the king of Phoenicis, the queen of Hatari, and the princes and princess of Serenes sat down in the same room.


	14. CHAPTER 80: ORIBES BRIDGE

Soren’s prediction was correct; it was Empress Sanaki of Begnion who approached Melior Castle three days later. Elincia allowed her, Sigrun, and Tanith to enter the palace while the army she’d brought with her was kept under strict guard. The other peers of the realm were waiting for her, and the kings and queens cloistered themselves in a closed-door meeting for the rest of the morning. Not even Giffca, Skrimir, or Ike were allowed inside, which certainly meant Soren had no place at the proverbial table. But he longed to know what was being said.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait for the royals to grace him with their presence to figure out what was going on. Sigrun and Tanith were similarly barred, which meant they could do nothing to avoid interrogation. Ike and Ranulf had the same idea, and the three were about to barrage the Holy Guards with questions when Sigrun raised her hands and said simply, “I will explain everything I can. Let us find a place to sit. I fear it is a long story.”

They made their way to the nearest parlor, and Skrimir, Titania, and Mist met them on the way. Once they were all seated on plush cushions surrounding a low table, Sigrun clasped her hands in her lap and began her tale:

“As you now know, the plot to assassinate Apostle Misaha and exterminate the herons was not devised by King Daein after all. It was a coup by the Senate, led by Duke Leikan Gaddos, to wrest power away from the Line of Altina… I swear to you that I—and those loyal to the Apostle—had no knowledge of this until your own messengers brought it to our attention.” This she addressed to Skrimir and Ranulf. “I have heard what fate they met, and for that, you have my deepest sympathy.” Sigrun laid a hand gently over her heart and inclined her head. The spiderweb of wrinkles on her face and the white strands amidst the turquoise blue of her hair seemed suddenly more prominent. 

“Go on,” Skrimir said simply.

“When the truth came to their attention, the Apostle and Lord Sephiran intended to arrest and prosecute the traitors, but the Senate moved too quickly. They imprisoned the Apostle in Temple Mainal for many months, where even we of the Holy Guard could not reach her. With her signature and seal of office, the senators forged an arrest warrant for Lord Sephiran and seized him before he could do anything to help her. Thus Duke Gaddos has acquired the complete power he sought for almost thirty years.”

“That sounds bad,” Ike said, and although his words weren’t eloquent, the feeling behind them was genuine.

Sigrun nodded. “Indeed it is. The leaders of the Senate have long wished for the restoration of the Old Empire and the subjugation of the laguz kingdoms. This war is their machination alone. The Apostle wants only peace and respect between laguz and beorc.” 

“What she wants doesn’t really matter now,” Soren shot back. “You broke her out, didn’t you? And you came here in exile. The only troops you have are the couple thousand Zelgius gave you, and even their loyalty must be hanging by a thread.”

“Soren!” Titania hissed.

“She wants to help,” Ike said firmly. “We can work from that.”

Soren shook his head. “Sanaki didn’t come here to make peace; she came to make war. She needs an army.” He gestured at the nearest window (and the barracks in the city beyond). “We have one.”

Sigrun’s face pinched slightly as she tried to maintain a pensive demeanor. “What you say is true. As we speak, the Apostle is seeking an alliance with the Kings and Queens of Tellius. Soon we shall know their decision.” 

“…I hope my uncle agrees,” Skrimir said, surprising everyone with his uncharacteristically thoughtful tone. “If we share a common enemy, we share a common purpose. Beorc and laguz… Though we come from different backgrounds and have faced different trials, when we have the chance to work together, that must be reason enough to try.” No one responded, and he glanced up suddenly, realizing everyone was staring at him. “Er, that is what my uncle, er, my King might say, I think…”

Ranulf laughed and patted Skrimir on the back. “Well, I agree.”

“Me too,” Titania said with a tender smile.

Ike cupped his hands behind his head. “Well, the Greil Mercenaries are always for hire.”

At this Sigrun smiled slightly. “We will see…”

Next it was Mist who spoke up, but she didn’t seem as enthusiastic as the others. “After what Elincia said the other day…” she began, “I really thought for a moment there might be a way to fix everything without having to take more lives or shed more blood. Maybe that was naïve of me…” She shook her head. “I want to stop the senators, I really do,” she said, looking around at everyone as if sorry for chasing away their smiles. “I just- I think it’s a little sad too.”

“You are not naïve, Mist,” Titania said, wrapping an arm around the younger woman. “In fact, I think you and Queen Elincia are very wise.”

With that, the conversation ended. Skrimir and Ranulf had to attend the needs of their restless troops, and when they were gone, Titania changed the subject, asking Sigrun and Tanith to regale her with the details of Sanaki’s daring rescue. Mist seemed revitalized by this new topic, and she asked the women how their pegasi were faring after the long journey. Ike, meanwhile, had grown quiet, and Soren wondered if they could be thinking the same thing: Lehran’s Medallion.

Rafiel and Leanne had brought it with them. Leanne was watching over it now, somewhere in this castle, while Rafiel and Reyson attended Sanaki’s meeting. If the kings and queens of Tellius gave Sanaki an army to retake her throne, wouldn’t they be feeding the flames of war? How much longer could they keep pushing forward, always thinking a chance at lasting peace was just around the corner? Soren didn’t know the answer, but he did know the medallion scared him. He didn’t know what would happen if the supposed ‘dark god’ grew powerful enough to escape the bronze pendant, but the idea that other people could be inflicted with the same mad power that had possessed Greil was terrifying enough.

Shaking his head, Soren told himself not to speculate the outcomes of ancient magic he didn’t understand. The medallion and the warning about the god escaping were hardly more than folklore—perhaps just an allegory dreamt up by the Dragon King and used to keep his neighbors in line so his own people could live in peace.

Soren wished he could believe it was actually that simple.

“We have to face what’s in front of us and survive it,” Ike said quietly, perhaps having noticed Soren shake his head, “and right now, that’s Begnion.”

“I know,” Soren replied, also quietly.

“Let’s just keep doing what we’re good at,” Ike added in an encouraging voice.

“That’s all I’ve ever done,” Soren replied dutifully.

That evening, the kings, queens, mercenaries, and soldiers were treated to a dinner in Melior Palace’s royal gardens: the place where Ashnard had died and Elincia coronated. Summer was drawing to a close, but it was still warm tonight. Before the meal was served, Sanaki (who was a child no more) mounted the steps to the balcony with Caineghis, Tibarn, and Elincia for an announcement.

“Let it be known that on this day, King Caineghis of Gallia and King Tibarn of Phoenicis bestow upon me, Apostle Sanaki Kirsch Altina, Empress of Begnion, their alms and arms in the coming campaign to retake Begnion from the corrupt Senate and restore myself to rule. Our unified forces shall be known as the Apostle’s Army, and we will set out from Crimea with Queen Elincia’s blessing, as she has witnessed the ratification of our agreement. In return for the aid of Kings Caineghis and Tibarn, I vow to erect a treaty of lasting peace between our nations, cede the Serenes Forest to the heron tribe, pour my efforts into freeing all laguz still in slavery, and open lines of diplomacy between our peoples with no bias between the races of beorc and laguz. This I do solemnly swear.”

The applause was awkward and scattered at first, but when Caineghis, Tibarn, and Elincia raised their hands in front of them, it was a sign to everyone that this was indeed a positive announcement. Now the applause was raucous.

Elincia declared that food should be brought out and everyone should dig in, and with that, she, Sanaki, Caineghis, and Tibarn descended the steps to take their own seats. However, Sanaki didn’t go to her own table. With Sigrun and Tanith flanking her, she went straight to the Greil Mercenaries.

“Sir Ike,” she greeted him. “Sir Ranulf,” she added, seeing the cat-man beside him with a dumpling already squeezed into his cheek.

“Empress Sanaki,” Ike greeted her in return. “So it sounds like everyone is on the same side now. That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time.”

“I feel the same,” she agreed, “but it’s too early to celebrate. I will not be happy until I take back my country. How we fare in the battles to come will be of the utmost importance.” Her spine was rigid, but her shoulders were relaxed under her golden gown and rich crimson cloak. She was a rather short and slender woman, but at almost twenty years old, she’d clearly grown a lot since Soren had first met her. She wore the mantel of her office with the grace of an empress rather than the self-importance of a spoiled child.

“The Greil Mercenaries would be glad to help,” Ike replied, “I know that we’re a small unit, but we’ll do our best to see the job done right.”

“I certainly hope you will.” A glint of cunning suddenly flashed across her face. “Especially since I’ve decided to make you the commander of our combined forces.”

“Wait, hold on there!” Ike threw up both of his hands in alarm. “What did you say?” When she only stared back at him with a steady gaze, Ike rushed to refuse: “Listen, Empress Sanaki, I’m really flattered, but General Zelgius is much more qual-”

“Zelgius returned to the empire by himself to rescue Prime Minister Sephiran. Our army consists of the troops he left behind, as well as the armies of Crimea, Gallia, and Phoenicis.” Soren’s ears perked up at this, because this was the first he was hearing of Elincia giving Sanaki any of her troops. (So much for neutrality.) “Ike,” she continued seriously, “you’re probably the only person on the face of Tellius who commands respect from all four countries represented here.”

Ranulf placed a consoling hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Ike, I know you’re not happy about this, but you’re the only person who can bridge the rift between the laguz and beorc.”

“No, I’m not happy about it,” Ike snapped. “I thought my days of being a general ended for good five years ago… But I won’t refuse,” he gave in. “If you think I’m the only person who can pull this off, then I’ll do my best not to let you down.”

“Thank you, Ike,” Sanaki said, and her tone was sincere. She even bowed her head, which forced Sigrun and Tanith to genuflect as well. “Now, let us go meet with the armies and the soldiers you will be leading.” She held out her hand expectantly, but her eyes were already roaming the courtyard as if planning her attack. “They will want to meet their new commander.”

With a nudge from Ranulf, Ike got up. “Not again…” he groaned, but he followed her away. Soren, Ranulf, Titania, and Mist watched him disappear.

Then Ranulf helped himself to the uneaten food on Ike’s plate. “Come on, he had to have known that was coming,” he said, shrugging while he munched away.

“Not my brother,” Mist replied with a tired-sounding sigh. “He never realizes everyone thinks as much of him as they do.”

“Our modest young commander,” Titania chuckled with a shake of her head.

“You laugh now,” Soren countered, “but you must realize this will mean a lot more work for us.”

“Hey, I already have to do all of Skrimir’s work,” Ranulf grumbled and shoved another dumpling into his mouth. When he swallowed, he raised both hands, saying, “Ike is all you three.”

This made Mist and Titania laugh, and Soren felt his mouth twitch into a smile. Some things were so familiar they felt good, even if the thing itself wasn’t necessarily pleasant. Managing a war for Ike had become one of those things.

The next day, Sanaki officially named Ike general of the Apostle’s Army and bestowed upon him the holy sword Ragnell as a symbol of his office. Apparently, she’d thought ahead and swiped the sword from the catacombs at the hour of her rescue. Despite its obvious usefulness if they met the Black Knight during this campaign (or another opponent with enchanted armor), Soren couldn’t help but resent Sanaki for her forethought.

Now that Ike had the sword, there would be no stopping him if the Black Knight crossed his path again—and seeing as the road to Begnion would take the Apostle’s Army through Daein, that felt inevitable. It was almost enough for Soren to recommend a different route, but he knew that wasn’t feasible.

Going by sea would take too long, require too many ships, and risk being decimated by Kilvas when they passed their island. According to Tibarn’s spies, King Naesala and his army were staying firmly in place for now, but if they’d helped Begnion once, they were liable to do it again.

Crossing into Begnion via Ranulf’s secret passage was risky too, because if they did not succeed in their first attempt, Begnion could then spill through the mountains and take Gallia.

Mugill Pass was the obvious next choice, but with Begnion firmly entrenched in the two fortress cities, the Apostle’s Army would become bottlenecked and take heavy losses.

That left Daein, whose level of support for Begnion was a mystery. The country was still healing from their rebellion, and now that they were faced with such a formidable force, it was possible they would stand down and let the Apostle’s Army through.

To help matters, Elincia sent messengers to Nevassa, petitioning Pelleas for permission to enter his country. She vowed on her own nation’s honor that the Apostle’s Army would not raid or harass his citizens. This would be possible because Crimea was providing the army with several months’ worth of food and supplies.

These supplies would be given in place of the military force they were withholding. Although Elincia supported Sanaki, she still refused to order her citizens to spill their blood for her. Therefore, Crimea was contributing only a few soldiers—a battalion of a thousand volunteers. Among them were Kieran, Marcia, Makalov, Astrid, Danved, and Calill, but Geoffrey, Lucia, and the queen would be staying in Crimea with the majority of their army.

Nailah, Rafiel, Reyson, and Leanne would also be staying in Melior as Elincia’s guests, keeping watch over the medallion. No one said it outright, but Soren suspected everyone thought the medallion would be least effected by the war if it stayed in peace-loving Crimea. However, he suspected this was a false assumption. According to the legend, the flames of war would reach the medallion wherever it was.

As for Caineghis and Giffca, they wouldn’t be joining the Apostle’s Army either, and instead they returned to Gallia to oversee the troops there. That left Tibarn and Skrimir as the only royals who would be joining Ike on the battlefield, and both vowed to respect his position as general. “We follow your lead now,” Tibarn vowed, but this only seemed to make Ike even more uncomfortable with his sudden authority.

While they awaited King Daein’s reply, Ike and Soren oversaw preparations for their campaign, and Sigrun gave them all of the money she’d managed to take from Sienne for the war effort: a measly twenty-thousand gold. She signed the Greil Mercenaries into the service of the Begnion Empire, and as payment, she vowed they would be given lands and fortunes when they retook Sienne. Once the senators were dead, Sanaki would be able to take control of their wealth, and it would be easy to give the mercenaries anything they wanted.

Perhaps because of this, no one opted out of their contracts when Ike gave them the choice. “I won’t force anyone to go back to Begnion if they don’t want to,” he said, “But I’d welcome your strength if you come with me.” Naturally, everyone claimed they’d follow Ike to the edge of the world if he asked them to.

With no reply from Pelleas, the army inched toward the Daein border. Soren told Ike to head for Oribes Bridge—the largest southern crossing. Once in Daein, they would stay close to the mountains and pass into Begnion at the first opportunity. This would be Tor Holvar: the westernmost fort in the Great Wall of Ivelt. Then, the Apostle’s Army would turn abruptly, keeping close to the mountains on the other side. They would follow these to Flaguerre, which they would have to seize quickly to gain leverage. Once this was accomplished, they could take Mugill with the help of the laguz forces still in Gallia. Once the armies were united, they could make their way to Sienne, much like they’d done before—but Soren vowed this invasion would end differently. He would learn from his past mistakes, and he and Zelgius would be on the same side this time. The general would be amassing his own troops to combat the senators’, and if Sanaki would sway her citizens’ hearts, victory might just be possible.

Autumn was setting in around them when the Apostle’s Army made camp less than a day’s march from Oribes. Elincia’s messengers still hadn’t returned from Daein, and Soren feared foul play. His fears were confirmed when a white-armored Crimean scout came galloping into camp. “Excuse me, Captain!” he squeaked, seeing Titania. Perhaps he recognized her from the Mad King’s War, but his eyes completely passed over Soren. “I bring urgent news for Queen Elincia and General Ike of the Apostle’s Army!”

“This way!” Titania leapt to her feet and led him to the officers’ pavilion. Soren followed, because he wanted to know whatever bad news this scout was carrying.

“Queen Elincia!” the soldier cried when the tent came into view. He sounded very much like a scared child calling for his mother.

“What happened?” Elincia demanded, pushing her way out of the tent.

“We’ve received a report that the Daein Army has appeared near the border between Daein and Crimea! The Daein Army demands custody of the Apostle on behalf of Begnion! They will use force if necessary.”

“Daein wants to get in our hair again?” Ike grumbled, coming out behind her. “Perfect.”

Sanaki stepped out of tent as well, with Sigrun at her side. “I am puzzled by this,” she said with a small shake of her head. “Why does Daein support the Senate?” When no one replied, she raised her voice and her chin. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Ike, we must change our target.”

“Agreed.” Ike moved his gaze to the east, as if he could see the Daein Army waiting for them at Oribes. “We have to get Daein out of the way before we do anything else.”

“For now, let us send a messenger asking the commander of the Daein forces to stand down and meet with us,” Elincia suggested hopefully. “We will never give up the Apostle, but perhaps we can still come to terms.”

The messengers were sent, and the next morning, the army picked up its stakes and moved out. They marched in full armor, ready for battle when they arrived.

“So, Daein still refuses to negotiate?” Sanaki asked when the vast stone bridge finally came into view. Black-armored soldiers were crawling over it. Fortunately scouts had reported that neither Micaiah nor the Black Knight were in command here.

“Either they believe the Senate’s lies,” Sigrun replied solemnly, “or the senators are pulling strings behind the scenes.”

“Well, whatever the reason, we can’t attack Begnion without taking care of this first,” Ike declared, gesturing at the fortifications awaiting them.

“I will not give up,” Sanaki said firmly. “We won’t stop sending messengers until they respond. But Ike, I leave this to your expertise.” She opened her palm, gesturing to the bridge.

Ike nodded and turned to Skrimir. “I want to keep our numbers small. We shouldn’t provoke them any further. Plus, well, it’s a bridge. We can only bring so many troops to bear.”

“I understand,” Skrimir replied, although he sounded disappointed. “Gallia will stay behind.”

“You’ll have your turn soon, Skrimir, I promise.” Ike clapped him on the arm.

“What of my hawks?” Tibarn asked.

“You can fight if you want, but keep most of your troops back. There’re a lot of archers and ballistae down there,” Ike explained, and Soren agreed with his assessment. The Phoenicians were too precious to lose, and they only had two thousand of them. “Sigrun, Tanith—” Ike turned to them “—the same goes for you.”

“I will join you,” Sigrun replied adamantly. “But by your leave, I would have the majority of the Holy Guard remain with the Apostle.”

Ike nodded.

“I will fight as well,” Tanith added, and when Ike nodded in thanks, a small smile on his lips, Soren wished she didn’t look so much like Roark.

“Alright, let’s go!”

This battle would be undeniably similar to their siege of Riven Bridge, but Soren hoped it would be a little easier. Once again, Daein had had time to wheel ballistae into place, dig out stones as traps, and stack sandbags to form protective shelters. Oribes matched Riven in width, length, and age, but whereas Riven has been easier to take from the east, Oribes was easier to take from the west. This meant Ike and the Apostle’s Army still had an advantage.

While Begnion and Crimean archers provided support from platforms cut into the higher cliffs, Sigrun led a small vanguard of pegasus knights to make the first strike from the air. Haar and Jill joined her, but Tibarn and his entourage were still back at camp with the laguz half of the army. (Apparently Reyson had come down with a sudden illness, and he and Tibarn had been arguing this morning about why that was all the more reason for him to stay in Crimea.) Even without Tibarn’s help, however, the aerial units were a force to be reckoned with, and they displayed exceptional agility by drawing (and avoiding) Daein’s fire. This was essential, because Daein had packed the bridge and cliffs with archers and ballistae to combat the Apostle Army’s many airborne troops.

Meanwhile, on the ground, the Greil Mercenaries led a second strike just a minute after Sigrun. Following closely behind them was Kieran, who was leading a regiment of Crimean cavalry and Begnion infantry. Their job was to push forward the second the mercenaries lost momentum.

The first obstacle was the three catapults at this end of the bridge, but with Sigrun’s air support, the mercenaries easily destroyed them. Soren helped by consuming one with an Elfire spell, but he didn’t even stop running when he cast it. He was charging at the front of the offensive wedge, right beside him Ike, and that was where he wanted to stay.

They were nearly to the first barricade when five black helmets popped up behind it. Although only their heads and shoulders appeared, the weapons they carried were levelled over the top of the sandbags, and by the time Soren realized what they were, it was too late.

These Daein archers were wielding crossbows, and five stout arrows suddenly shot out, stopping Soren, Ike, Titania, Boyd, and Mia in their tracks. Soren fell back, hitting the ground hard with his tailbone, elbows, and inevitably, the back of his head. But even worse than the dizziness and pain was the sensation that part of his body had left him and was still sailing away. The bolt had struck the right side of his abdomen and passed straight through.

Clamping his hands over the front of the wound, Soren didn’t think he could get up—but neither could he stay here. Turned his head to the side, he saw Titania’s stallion screaming and writhing while blood pumped out of a hole in its neck. Titania’s leg was caught in the saddle, already broken and being crushed further with every thump of the horse’s heavy body. Through tears and cries of pain, she tried to disentangle herself and quiet the beast.

Rolling to avoid the horse’s flailing legs, Soren turned his neck in the other direction. Ike was pulling himself onto one knee. The arrow had gone through his leather armor and chain mail, and it was now embedded in his left shoulder, which appeared dislocated judging by the awkward way his arm hung. “Don’t let them reload!” he bellowed.

The Daein archers had ducked down again, and Soren had no doubt they were doing exactly what Ike had said. But the wedge’s second line had been spared the first volley thanks to Soren, Ike, and the others making such good human shields. Gatrie and Brom raced forward, raising their large, steel pavises. Ranulf (one of the few laguz joining them in this fight) ran between them and then launched himself over the barricade, knocking down the top row of sandbags with his hindlegs. Tanith dove down to help as well, and although Soren heard the twang of the crossbows and saw bolts fly into the air, Tanith remained airborne. Ranulf yelped pitifully, however, and Soren wondered at what cost they’d eliminated only five archers.

To make matters worse, Gatrie and Brom carelessly split up to go around the barricade, and each fell into a hole at the same time. Their heavy armor weighed them down, and the Daein soldiers on the other side gave them no reprieve. It was all they could to do keep their shields up as they tried to yank out their legs. Until someone managed to thin Daein’s ranks and help pull them out, the army could make no further progress. Thinking thunder magic might do the trick, Soren reached for his tome where he’d dropped it, but the slightest movement send spasms of pain through his body. He was growing weaker by the second. He needed a healer.

Tanith pulled Ranulf’s body (now bipedal and possibly unconscious) onto her saddle and got out of harm’s way before a contingent of more-traditional Daein archers moved in on her position. Meanwhile Heather cut Titania’s saddle and pulled her away from the dying creature. Kieran hopped off his horse to seize Ike around the chest—dragging him back when it seemed he wanted to keep charging forward. Oscar was doing the same with Boyd. Nephenee had an arm around Mia, who was limping weakly. And a moment later, Danved was plunging one arm under Soren’s legs and the other behind his neck. “There ya go, kiddo,” he was saying, “I’ve got ya.”

Soren would have rather crawled away from the battle than be carried by this buffoon, but at this point, he was incapable of even that. So he remained curled up, held a hand to his stomach, and tried not to bleed onto his tome (which at least, he didn’t forget this time). When the injured mercenaries were safely back on solid ground (which wasn’t far), Mist, Rhys, and a Crimean cleric took custody of them so the rest could return to the frontlines. But without Ike, Soren wasn’t confident they were going to make much progress.

His head felt light, and his thoughts were slowing. If he wasn’t careful, he would lose consciousness and be useless for the rest of the battle. Trying not to move, he waited for Rhys or Mist to treat him (hoping to avoid the hands of another unfamiliar healer).

“Crossbows?” Mist exclaimed when Ike told her what had happened. “Daein’s weaponsmiths must have been busy.”

“We have to…be careful going forward…especially our…flyers,” Soren added quietly, although it seemed even speaking caused blood to leave him faster. “I suggest…a different strategy… Pull Sigrun back…to play only a supportive role.”

“Well I don’t like the sound of that,” came Tibarn’s voice, and a moment later the man landed in front of them. “I just got here and you’re trying to hold me back?”

“Tibarn!” Ike greeted him right before Mist jerked his arm back into its socket. “ _Argh!_ ”

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Tibarn laughed. “There was a little thing back at camp I had to deal with.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder with a grumpy frown.

Just then, Soren felt a warming sensation on his back. Rhys gripped his shoulder and leaned him forward slightly so he could see what he was doing. Soren cooperated, even though it hurt to move.

“No problem, Tibarn.” Ike shook his head while Mist finished closing up the hole in his shoulder. “What kind of thing? Is Reyson-”

“He was exhausted but insisted on coming with me.” Tibarn raised his palms and his shoulders. “I tried tying him to a cot to keep him down, but that just excited him more.”

“Really?” Ike asked in confusion (clearly not understanding the sarcasm nor inuendo).

“Nah, I’m just kidding,” Tibarn laughed. “He passed out earlier, so I have a different anchor slowing me down this time.” He gestured to the side, and a moment later, Leanne’s feet alighted on the ground. Janaff and Ulki landed on either side of her.

“Leanne?” Ike asked in disbelief.

“I…um, I will…fight. Yes?” Leanne managed to say, her voice heavily accented with the ancient language. Oddly enough, it reminded Soren of his own struggle with speaking the common tongue as a child. His thoughts trailed to the past, growing increasingly distant until a sudden surge of blood and stabbing pain reminded him of the wound Rhys was trying to heal.

“Sorry,” Rhys hissed. “Sorry, it’s a bad one.” The pain instantly disappeared, and Rhys now had him lean in the other direction so he could see the front.

Turning his attention back to the conversation, Soren heard Ike telling them: “Tibarn, Leanne, we’re honored to have you here. Now move out to the front, and spread the word that all winged units should be on the lookout for crossbowmen. That includes you.”

Tibarn laughed. “I’ll see what I can do!”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Ike promised, and the four laguz returned to the sky. “Almost done?” Ike asked, turning his head to his sister.

“Nearly there; be patient,” Mist replied tartly, but a moment later, she finished and patted him on the head. “Go on then.” Flashing a grin, he ran off without another word. Mist moved onto Ranulf, who’d regained consciousness but still looked woozy. He had a welt growing on the top of his head and two cross bow bolts sticking out of the side of his buttocks and thigh.

When Rhys was finished healing him, he gave Soren a flask of water and asked if he could stand. Soren was glad to find he still had the energy to do so, and by the time he reached the bottom of the flask, his head was a little clearer. His guts felt like they’d just been mashed up and rearranged, and he was fairly certain he would have to throw up quite a bit of blood later. But he knew Rhys had saved his life again and that the discomfort would fade in time. He also knew that this battle had hardly begun; he had to get back to Ike’s side as soon as possible. With this thought in mind, Soren put one foot in front of the other and made his way back onto the bridge, intent on rejoining the frontlines.

The commander of the bridge forces was no General Petrine, and even though he tried the same tricks, they were not as effective. The fortifications were not as expertly built or spaced, and even the soldiers who’d been given Shine Barrier scrolls seemed to forget to use them or used them in the wrong places. Some soldiers even fell into their own traps. The addition of crossbowmen to the Daein ranks and the improved accuracy of their arrow- and spear-throwing ballistae seemed to be the only improvements to their defense.

If this were all Daein could muster, the Apostle’s Army should have blown through it within an hour. But these soldiers also proved to be incredibly tough. They were loud, they were aggressive, and they were coordinated. They watched each other’s backs, communicated readily, and rescued their comrades. The healers among them were obviously revered and well-protected, and Soren wondered if this was a result of the fact that their general, Micaiah, was also a stave magic user. Whatever the case, it meant that if Soren didn’t kill his opponent with his first or second hit, then he was sure to see them again, right as rain, in ten minutes. This was incredibly aggravating, and the battle drew on and on, with each army pushing the other back and forth as if playing a massive game of tug-of-war across the chasm separating Crimea and Daein.

Ultimately, the battle became one of attrition, and the Apostle’s Army had higher numbers, even without the laguz. The Daein battalion (and their healers) grew exhausted, and the commander eventually called for the majority to retreat. He and a small force stayed behind to defend those who retreated, but rather than give into despair or fear as they were overwhelmed by the Apostle’s Army, these soldiers fought with determination. They summoned surprising strength and took inspiration from their commander, who called out to tell them the Maiden of Dawn would be proud of their sacrifice.

But now the commander turned his voice on the advancing army: “Followers of the false apostle!” he roared. “Bow down to the miracle of our savior! As long as the Maiden of Dawn watches over us, we cannot be defeated!” This man, who was built like a mountain, carried an arbalest: a huge crossbow that most people would never have been able to wield, let alone load on their own. But he did so easily and quickly. Now that the Apostle’s Army was within his range, he was firing as rapidly as he could.

A single shot could be instantly fatal, and Soren knew he would have to be smart and fast not to get hit. Keeping an eye on the man’s gaze, Soren realized he picked his next target whenever he stopped to reload. Therefore, Soren made sure to duck for cover or hide behind some large soldier whenever he reloaded and only proceeded forward when the man was firing. This was the opposite of what almost everyone else was doing, which was rushing forward when the man was forced to lower the arbalest to the ground, slide in another bolt, and heave the lever until the string snapped into place.

Using the gaps in the man’s attention and counting on his small size to make him seem like less of a threat, Soren raced to get closer. He needed to end this in one strike, and for that, his spell needed to be close-ranged and exact. The rest of the Daeins surrounding the commander tried to stop him, but Soren ducked under axes, slid around swords, and sidestepped spear thrusts. He only had eyes for the commander; and now, the commander only had eyes for Tibarn.

The great eagle was darting left and right, dropping down, and swerving in and out of range via loop-de-loops, and the Daein commander was falling for the bait, trying to knock Tibarn out of the sky. Soren was so close to the tall man that when he slid to a halt, he actually passed him. Standing firmly in place, he unleashed the Thoron spell he’d been chanting for the past several yards: “-*my enemy*!”

An orb of blinding, spinning electricity materialized above the man, and from it a double helix of spiraling lightning struck down. The twin bolts combined, alighting on the tip of the arbalest, coursing down the metal prod, channeling into his arm, and thrumming into his body where it intensified, burning him from the inside out. Then the orb itself fell, compacting the helix with explosive force. The commander’s body hit the ground, and tendrils of lightning leapt out in every direction, scorching the earth and shocking anyone who was standing too close—everyone except Soren.

Thoron was the most powerful thunder spell in Soren’s repertoire, and he hadn’t even tried to use since the end of the Mad King’s War. But he was relieved to see it was successful now. The commander’s tongue and lips were charred, his eyes had exploded, and blood was oozing out of his ears. His skin and clothes were smoking, and the tips of his fingers had been blown off. “My death means nothing…” His blackened tongue clicked against his white teeth while he stared unseeing at the sky. “The Maiden of Dawn…will bring victory…to Daein,” he said with his last breath, although he looked already dead and his brain should only have been spasming with latent electricity at this point. This man shouldn’t have been able to speak at all, and the intensity of his devotion unnerved Soren. _What kind of general can inspire her soldiers to such feats at the mere thought of her?_ he wondered, but he couldn’t dwell on the matter now.

As soon as their astonishment wore off, the surviving soldiers lunged to kill him. But by now, Tibarn, Ranulf, and Ike had reached him too. The rest of the army was right behind them, and Soren merely had to run and dodge long enough to survive until they arrived.

After that, the battle was won, and Soren found a place to sit down for a moment. He was thoroughly exhausted, and the lightheadedness from his initial injury had never truly left him. He had been relying on instinct and nerve in this battle, and now that his adrenaline faded, he was almost amazed that he was still alive. Although he dimly remembered vomiting up blood and water twice already this battle, he turned to the side and tried to discreetly evacuate the rest of the buildup from his abdominal wound. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he hoped that was the last of it.

His legs felt weak, but tried to minimize the shaking when he got to his feet. Although he wished he could slip into unconsciousness, he knew there was still more to do. He trudged over to where Ike, Sigrun, and Tanith were assessing the remnants of the Daein camp.

“The Daein Army is much stronger than it was five years ago,” Ike was saying, glancing around at the fallen bodies.

“Yes, by far,” Sigrun agreed (although she’d never actually faced Daein during the Mad King’s War). “Even after the situation turned against them, every soldier fought with valor. Quite impressive.”

“They kept muttering about the power of their general, this ‘Maiden of Dawn’,” Tanith noted distastefully. “The soldiers seemed obsessed with her.”

“Of course they were,” Soren cut in, “She’s their prophet.”

Sigrun and Tanith seemed confused and offended, but Ike was nodding as if he’d been thinking the same thing. “This might sound strange,” he said, “but they must believe in her as much as you Holy Guards believe in the apostle.”

“Hmph.” Tanith crossed her arms. “I understand. They are formidable and deluded, then. I shall use caution.”

Soren was starting to think the situation was worse than that. He wondered if the senate wished to turn this civil war into a holy war. Doing so could detract support from Sanaki and involve Daein and Crimea, whose citizens should technically still worship Sanaki was the head of the church and voice of the goddess.

The senate was already accusing Sanaki of being a ‘false apostle’. This implied they hoped to discover and promote someone as their true apostle. Soren had assumed it would be one of the senators, perhaps the ringleader, Duke Lekain. But if a prophet of Ashera was already rising in Daein with such fervor, the senate may use Micaiah as a puppet apostle instead. This could even explain why Daein allied itself with Begnion in the first place. But if Micaiah was as clever as everyone claimed, could she truly be bought so easily with a false promise of power?

Since Soren’s mind was filled only with speculation and unanswered questions, he decided not to share any of these thoughts with Ike, Sigrun, Tanith, or the others. He turned his fading attention back to what Ike was saying:

“Let’s get the rest of the army across, and say goodbye to Queen Elincia,” he announced, “We can make a temporary camp here and rest up a bit. Then we’re moving out. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover before Begnion, and we can’t count on Daein leaving us alone for long.”

Soren agreed, although he’d had a hard time listening to anything after the words ‘rest up’. Right now, his body and mind yearned for unconsciousness more than anything else.


	15. CHAPTER 81: AMBUSH

Elincia left them at the border, returning to Melior with Nailah, Rafiel, Reyson, and the medallion. In her stead, Sanaki assumed the task of petitioning Pelleas for permission to march through Daein. But Soren knew her insistence was futile. After three days without a reply, they finally marched on.

Keeping the mountains always on their right, the Apostle’s Army avoided major towns and cities. After two weeks, they were finally nearing Tor Holvar, and they hadn’t seen another Daein soldier since Oribes. While others rejoiced that Daein had given up, Soren felt an ambush was increasingly inevitable.

When he saw that their current route would lead them through the base of a massive ravine, it seemed too perfect a trap for Daein not to employ. He looked for different roads, but this close to the mountains, there were none except to pass through the nearest city, cause a panic, and warrant Daein’s counterattack.

He allowed the army to proceed as planned, but not without countermeasures. The Greil Mercenaries and a small laguz regiment would travel along the top of the ravine while the main army marched through the bottom. This way, they could detect and disrupt any ambush before it could get fully underway. He also recommended Ike deploy hawks as advance scouts, telling them to be on the lookout for soldiers among the dense trees or anything suspicious on the cliff’s edge. His final measure was to lighten Sanaki’s carriage and attach it to four pegasi in the front and back, rather than mere horses. In a worst-case scenario, they could fly her to safety with the Holy Guard providing cover.

On the day the army descended into the ravine, the sky was dark with rain, and soon it was falling in a thick, persistent drizzle. This, combined with the density of this conifer forest, meant the hawk scouts were all but completely useless. Even Janaff and Ulki’s sharp eyes and ears were dampened by the weather.

The beorc troops pulled their cloaks tight around their armor, and the laguz troops ducked their heads under their hoods. They stomped through the growing puddles, and the pegasi’s wings grew heavy with water. Soren often glanced down at them while making his way through trees, and he only felt a little safer up here than down there.

The mercenaries moved more slowly than the army, picking their way through the difficult terrain. Soren, for one, kept getting hit in the face with prickly branches, and he was as annoyed as he was soaked. Glancing at the army below, he judged that Sanaki and the Holy Guard were already a quarter-mile ahead. The mercenaries were supposed to stay alongside her, since she would be the prime target in case of an ambush. Now he was wondering if he should have organized a couple decoy carriages instead.

Another branch suddenly wacked him in the face, and he adjusted his route so he would no longer be walking behind Shinon. Now he was dangerously close to the wet rocks on the cliff’s edge, but he was out of the trees and had a better view of the army stretching ahead.

Rain water ran off of his hood and in front of his eyes, but he peered through the deluge, hoping his paranoia was unfounded. That was when the front of the army stopped moving. The entire column compressed to a confused stop. Darting back into the woods a moment, Soren reported to Ike: “Something’s happening!”

“Let’s move, people!” Ike called, “Find out what’s going on!” While the army below had come to a standstill, the mercenaries started moving faster through the trees.

“I smell oil,” Ranulf said suddenly.

“I smell it too,” Kyza agreed, sniffing the air while he ran. “A lot of it.”

Ike growled under his breath, not breaking his pace. “Whatever Daein’s doing, we need to put a stop to it.”

Just then, Soren heard fighting break out in the ravine. Braving the edge again, he saw Daein soldiers pouring out of the woods onto the cliff. Archers and mages were firing on the trapped army, while infantrymen took up positions wherever there were switchbacks, steps, or slopes gradual enough to climb. Here they fought to prevent any of the Apostle’s Army from making their way up. If Soren squinted, he could just make out black-armored soldiers in the ravine ahead of the army, preventing them from fleeing forward. Meanwhile, the ravine’s opposite side was too sheer to climb. It was a perfect ambush.

As the mercenaries got closer, Soren saw boulders perched on the cliff’s edge, and Daein soldiers were already pushing them. Down they rolled, crushing the densely-packed Crimean and Begnion soldiers at the bottom.

“They are being slaughtered…” he found himself saying, “It is Gaddos all over again.” The weight of defeat felt heavy on his shoulders.

“No, it’s not!” Ranulf shouted, apparently having heard his murmuring. “We can still stop this!”

Soren didn’t argue, but he did run faster. As much of a disaster as this was, it still didn’t account for the oil that even he could smell now. Finally he was close enough to see its source—twenty barrel-carts with long spouts evenly spaced along the cliff’s edge. Pairs of Daein soldiers were vigorously pumping the handles of the contraptions within the carts, thereby spraying oil over the ravine. Due to the rain, Soren couldn’t tell how many troops were being doused, but the carts were centered above the regiment of pegasus knights, which included Sanaki’s carriage.

“We need to stop the flow of oil,” Soren warned Ike. “They will light the ravine as soon as those barrels are empty.”

“Right! Everyone, put a stop to Daein’s traps!” Ike roared. “Let’s go!”

Finally, they reached the first Daein soldiers, who were obviously startled to see part of the Apostle’s Army coming out of the trees beside them. But once they realized they were facing a mere handful of mercenaries and laguz, they swiftly regained their confidence.

Soren used wind magic exclusively in this fight, because he feared a stray spark from a fire or thunder spell might somehow reach the oil and set it alight. Ilyana had the sense to do the same, and so the pair shared the winds, transforming the rain into a biting torrent.

The Daein battalion was tiny compared to the Apostle’s Army but vast compared to the mercenaries, and they struggled not to become overwhelmed. Before long, some hawk laguz and pegasus knights managed to avoid the onslaught of arrows and escape the ravine. Once they were above the cliff’s edge, they helped the mercenaries broadside the Daein defense. Together, they took out four of the oil sprayers and pushed forward to disable the rest.

But Soren stayed behind a moment. Conjuring another Wind spell, he blew a hole in the back of the nearest tank. The oil stank horribly, and when he approached, he was dismayed to see very little was left. Instinct told him not to touch it, but finding a stick, he prodded the dredges. When he pulled the twig away, he found this substance heavier, thicker, and stickier than regular oil: a naphtha concoction. He’d read about such mixtures before, but never seen one. Supposedly it burned hot and long, was difficult to remove from one’s skin or clothing, and was resistant to extinguishing. Upon first contact with a spark, it could also be explosive. Despite its difficulty to make, it seemed Daein had concocted a massive amount with the intention of subjecting the Apostle’s Army to a particularly hellish death.

“We cannot let them light it!” he called, running toward Ike. He and the others had disabled two more in the time Soren had been investigating.

“I hear you!” Ike called back, ducking to avoid a javelin thrown his way.

Soren figured it would be a waste of time to describe the danger of the naphtha. So he continued chanting, sending Wind and Elwind spells into any soldier he could reach. Nearby, Boyd seemed to be enjoying picking off distant foes with the crossbow he’d taken from Daein back at Oribes. While Rolf offered encouragement and advice, Oscar protected the three of them so they could focus on opponents farther away—or at least until Boyd seemed to grow tired of his new toy and slung it over his back. He charged forward with his axes drawn, and plunged into the nearest group of Daeins. Soren followed in his wake, hoping to get a better view of the ongoing battle and continue attacking from a better vantage point farther ahead.

Gradually Daein’s ranks thinned, and eventually all twenty carts were destroyed. But by the time the mercenaries reached the last one, the soldiers had ceased pumping anyway. Blowing a hole in the final barrel, Soren saw it was already empty. Glancing around, he looked for the Daein commander, wondering why they hadn’t yet set the ravine alight.

Seeing no one, all Soren could do now was help dismantle the last of the boulder traps (of which few remained) and push the Daein troops away from the cliff’s edge. Meanwhile, the Begnion soldiers within the ravine were finishing off the Daein soldiers who’d descended. That being said, there weren’t many Begnions left. The onslaught of arrows and rocks had already done their job, and the beorc portion of the Apostle’s Army had been cut in half. Lighting the naphtha now would eliminate the rest and ensure there were no survivors. 

Suddenly Soren caught sight of the enemy general in the distance, standing on a stone outcropping, overseeing the clifftop battle as well as the ravine below. Judging by her silver-white hair, it appeared the Maiden of Dawn was overseeing this ambush personally. A young woman of slight build, she was wearing a light pink tunic and a rich blue cape, but she didn’t seem bothered by the fact that her fine robes had been soaked in the rain.

Standing beside her was a tall, thin young man with a shock of dark, emerald-green hair. In contrast to Micaiah’s rich clothing, he was wearing nothing but canvas trousers, a green leather vest, and a ragged white scarf. Even at this distance, Soren knew this man must be Sothe: the child thief turned mercenary, now all grown up. Ilyana and Jill had both explained that Sothe and Micaiah were together (romantically speaking) so Soren wasn’t surprised to see him at her side. But he was surprised he looked so much like the vagrant the mercenaries had found stowed away on their ship almost eight years ago. He and the priestess-general made an odd pair.

Now Soren saw Tauroneo’s silver-white armor ascending to join them, and he felt confused and perturbed that this man would resort to such brutal tactics as using naphtha on trapped opponents. Soren might not care much for honor, but he’d thought Tauroneo did.

Surveying the rest of the soldiers near Micaiah, he was relieved to see that the Black Knight wasn’t among them. He didn’t appear to be anywhere on this battlefield, and Soren hoped he wasn’t about to show up. Needless to say, that would complicate matters—putting Ike in peril as well as the entire Apostle’s Army.

But Soren couldn’t afford to be distracted by thoughts of old comrades and new foes any longer. He had to face the opponents immediately in front of him if he wanted his current comrades to stay alive. New orders had been relayed from the general’s perch, and the Daein soldiers were rallying, fighting harder to reclaim the cliff’s edge. The Greil Mercenaries, laguz, and pegasi struggled to hold them back, but they weren’t even close to pushing them out of arrows’ range and volleys still fell on the army below. But not fire arrows—not yet.

These soldiers were positively glowing with pride, and they fought expertly. Their only weakness was that they tended to look over their shoulders, glancing at their distant general as if she might look their way and tell them they were doing a good job. (She did not.) Soren took full advantage of these lapses in attention. If a soldier was fool enough to look away, the parallel blades of Soren’s next wind spell would cut across their eyes and tear out their throat.

Eventually the rain started to let up, and with each passing minute, Soren wondered why Micaiah hadn’t ordered the naphtha set alight yet. _Is she waiting for her men in the ravine to escape?_ he wondered and glanced down. No, they were already dead _. Has she lost her units capable of setting the fire?_ he wondered next, glancing back. No, she had archers and fire mages standing right behind her. _Has she lost her nerve?_ he finally thought, but at this distance, her face was impossible to see. He couldn’t know.

Whatever the reason for her delay, it didn’t last forever. Ike was leading the mercenaries toward her now, and that seemed to spur her to action. She raised her hand, and the legion of archers at her back raised flaming arrowheads. The small phalanx of fire mages walked closer to the edge.

“No!” Ike screamed, “Stop!”

“Don’t do this Micaiah!” Jill shouted, but her wyvern was too far away.

“What are you doing?” Ilyana moaned, shaking her head between her hands.

“Gotcha!” yelled Tibarn, and he was the only one whose voice lacked despair. He shot straight up, appearing at the cliff’s edge right in front of Micaiah, and as fast as a speeding arrow, he ripped Sothe off his feet.

“No!” came a woman’s scream, and Soren realized it belonged to Micaiah. She sounded oddly human for someone so revered—she sounded desperate. “Sothe!”

“Don’t move,” Tibarn warned, “I see one arrow fly, and the boy gets a quick lesson in falling.”

Sothe tried to fight back, but Tibarn merely threw him in the air, caught him, knocked the knife from his hand, and then wrapped him in his vicelike side-hug. Sothe might have grown taller these past few years, but Tibarn was still massive and easily kept his arms pinched uselessly to his sides. They were suspended over the ravine now.

“Sothe! No please! All units, cease fire! Now!” Micaiah ordered. Although most of the troops had already fallen still, fighting now ceased entirely. The fire mages moved back, and the archers lowered their bows. Ike and Ranulf ran closer to Micaiah, and the dazed soldiers let them pass. Apparently they knew Sothe was important to their beloved general, because they looked scared now that he was Tibarn’s hostage. Most were watching Micaiah nervously, awaiting new orders.

Soren tried to move closer too, but it seemed the soldiers weren’t going to let just anyone close to their general. Now that Ike and Ranulf had passed, they closed ranks to block Soren, Titania, Mist, and the others.

“Micaiah of Daein!” Soren heard Ike’s voice call: “Listen to me very, very carefully.”

“Tell him to release Sothe!” came Micaiah’s proud, defiant voice. Soren decided to move backward so he could get a better view.

“Not a chance,” Ike replied. He and Ranulf had stopped below the jut of stone on which Micaiah and Tauroneo were standing, but they couldn’t get any closer because six Daein shield knights were blocking them. “I’m offering you a choice: surrender now and go home, or fight us and die.”

Micaiah didn’t answer immediately; her attention kept turning from Ike to Tibarn. “We can’t,” she finally said, and Soren was grateful the rain had all but completely stopped so he could hear her words. “We won’t retreat or negotiate,” she continued, “Regardless of what you believe, the only choice we have is to fight.”

“Are you insane?” Ranulf demanded, taking a step forward. The knights leveled their lances between their shields, but he didn’t seem to care. He threw his arms wide, gesturing at the remnants of her clifftop battalion. “Look around! Every single person in your army will die! Do you care that little about them?”

Micaiah didn’t answer, but just then, Sigrun flew out of the ravine with Sanaki sitting in front of her. They hovered near Tibarn and Sothe, suspended by the pegasus’s powerful wingbeats. “Enough!” Sanaki demanded. “Everyone, stand down!”

“ _Apostle_ -” Ike growled, but he seemed to bite off his next words.

“I’ve seen enough bloodshed for one day!” Sanaki continued, addressing Micaiah. “That’s enough! Please, no more.” She shook her head, and Sigrun flicked the reigns. They twisted in a tight arc, flying west. Below her, the army started retreating back down the ravine. With Sanaki no longer on the ground, Soren hoped Micaiah wouldn’t try to set the army on fire again.

“We’ll retreat for now,” Ike announced. “You’d better do the same, and I mean _now_. I’m not sure how long I can hold my troops back.” Although he was still in human form, Ranulf snarled to emphasize his words.

“But we can’t!” Micaiah cried out, and her voice was squeezed by desperation again. This surprised Soren, who was forced to conclude the Maiden of Dawn wasn’t allying herself with Begnion because the senate promised her power. They must have some leverage on her instead.

“Fine,” Tibarn replied, “His death is on your hands then. Sorry, little Sothe, your girlfriend just killed you. Say a quick goodbye.”

Sothe started squirming again, trying to grab onto Tibarn for security. “No, wait, Micai-” he cried out. But then Tibarn released him, and his protests became a wordless shriek.

“NO! SOTHE!” Micaiah screamed, running to the cliff’s edge. A soldier grabbed her before she could go over (which was a pity, because a lot of the Apostle’s Army’s problems could have been solved if the premier general of Daein threw herself off a cliff for love). While she stared, disbelieving, at the edge, Ulki steadily pulled himself out of the ravine, holding Sothe by the shoulders. The soldier let go of her, and Micaiah fell to her knees in relief.

Tibarn took a woozy-looking Sothe from Ulki, muttered something Soren couldn’t hear, and dropped him next to Micaiah. Then he and Ulki flew west without another word.

“General Tauroneo!” Ike suddenly called out, raising his hand to signal the old man. “I’ll ask you one last time: talk some sense in that girl, alright? She’s losing it.”

Tauroneo took a few steps down the rocky slope and cast his eyes over Ike, Ranulf, and then the rest of the mercenaries. “We won’t pursue you this time,” he finally answered. “However, we cannot avoid this war. That is all I will say for now. And Ike…I’m sorry for this.”

Ike threw up his hands in frustration and turned on the spot. He seemed to be grumbling something to himself, or maybe Ranulf, but Soren couldn’t hear. The Daein soldiers followed Tauroneo’s instruction and moved back toward their general. As soon as Ike and Ranulf reached them, the mercenaries began retreating too. 

Once the army was safely out of the ravine, Soren recommended they seek shelter in an old fort only a few hours south of here. It was tucked into the mountains and didn’t promise a viable route to Begnion, but it would be a safe and defensible place to regroup after today’s heavy losses.

Because the column had reversed direction, Skrimir and the Gallians were now marching at the army’s head. When they reached the fort, they easily scared away the poachers and vagrants who’d been using it as a haunt. By nightfall, the gates and doors were barred with everyone inside. 

The people and animals afflicted with the naphtha immediately set about trying to wash it off, but this was easier said than done. Clothes were tossed, hair and beards shorn, and the soldiers scrubbed their skin with soap, wool, and sand until it was raw. Then again, their skin seemed to be going raw anyway, blistering under the irritant. Those who were unfortunate enough to get it in their eyes were blinded, and already people were falling ill with fevers. Mist and the other healers did their best to alleviate the soldiers’ pain, but these were not the kind of injuries staves could fix. The naphtha lingered in their flesh like a toxin.

Soren patrolled the baths-cum-infirmary while putting the finishing touches on his casualty count, and he did not like what he saw. The Apostle’s Army had lost over two thousand soldiers, and of the surviving beorc, most were afflicted with the naphtha and would take time to recover. Mist warned that four hundred were in critical condition and could die of infection in the coming days. Soren accepted this estimate and moved on, but he could hardly believe the numbers he marked down on his scroll. He’d been wrong about this being like Gaddos—it was worse.

“What’s the situation?” Ike asked when Soren returned to the briefing room. The rest of the army’s leadership was assembled here as well.

“It’s awful,” he admitted. “The Begnion Central Army troops and the Crimean volunteer troops have been almost completely obliterated. On top of that, the oil Daein used has injured the Holy Guards’ pegasi and all but completely grounded them.”

“Yeah, I think awful fits,” Ike sighed, massaging his temples. “Thoughts, everyone?”

“Thoughts?” Skrimir repeated indignantly. “Daein must answer for this! We attack them immediately!”

“We can’t,” Ranulf argued, but he didn’t sound happy about it. “If we fought Daein now, we couldn’t possibly take on the senate’s armies. We have to get Daein to listen to us.”

Sanaki raised her palms as if to calm them both. “Confusion is exactly what Lekain wants,” she cautioned. “Daein is merely a pawn in his scheme. But there is one thing I do not understand… Why use such horrible tactics? Oil and fire? What is that girl Micaiah thinking?”

“Micaiah?” queried Rafiel’s soft voice as he pushed the door open to join them. “The Imperial Army truly has Micaiah on their side?” Everyone leapt to their feet at the sight of the heron (who was supposed to be in Crimea).

“Rafiel!” Tibarn barked. “When did you arrive?” Judging by the worried look on his face, Soren suspected he was thinking about Reyson and wondering if he was here too.

“Just now,” Rafiel replied, “with Reyson and Queen Nailah.”

The Hawk King took a step forward at Reyson’s name, and in confirmation of Rafiel’s words, Nailah entered beside him. With her arms crossed casually, she gave Tibarn a knowing look. “Reyson went straight to his sister,” she said, “He will be here with Leanne in a moment.” (He seemed instantly relieved.)

“Is it alright for the three of you to be here?” Ike asked uncertainly. “What about the medallion?”

“The medallion is right here,” Rafiel replied. He withdrew it from his flowing sleeve and proffered it in both palms.

Soren’s blood turned cold at the sight of the bronze disc, which was glowing with a faint blue light. Beneath the glow, he saw the shadow of a bloodstain, but blinking didn’t remove the vision as it had before. Everyone stared with something akin to awe mixed with trepidation.

“We’re very near the point where galdr won’t be able to contain its power,” Nailah explained. “That is why we have come. If this war goes on much longer, the Dark God will surely awaken.”

No one responded at first, but eventually Ike spoke up: “The senate wants to go to war with Gallia. Giving up now will just let them do it. We have to stop them if we are ever going to have peace. We just have to keep fighting a little longer.”

“Yes, we can end this soon!” Skrimir assured no one in particular.

“How much time do we have?” asked Titania.

Rafiel shook his head. “It is impossible to know. The light will grow brighter as the force of chaos in the world grows more pervasive. When the glow become a flame, it may be too late.”

“The herons will try to calm the glow for now,” Nailah promised, “and when next you meet Micaiah, Rafiel and I will try to speak to her. Perhaps we can avoid war with Daein at least.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Ike replied with a nod. Just then, Reyson and Leanne arrived. Tibarn crossed the room and set his hands on Reyson’s shoulders in welcome, apparently relieved to see him despite the circumstances. Leanne approached Rafiel to greet him in the ancient language and take a look at the medallion in his hands. With that, the war council came to an end, at least for now. No one knew how long they would have to stay here, or where they would go when they marched out again. Turning to the window, Soren saw snow falling in the torchlit courtyard. Winter was coming again—another reason to end this war soon.


	16. CHAPTER 82: MAIDEN OF DAWN

The Apostle’s Army rested in place for almost two weeks while they gathered intelligence and allowed the soldiers and pegasi afflicted by the oil to recover. Each day, able-bodied soldiers voyaged back to the ravine to collect and bury their dead.

They had just over eleven thousand troops now, more than half of which were Gallian. This would be enough to strike Begnion, but not if they suffered significant losses fighting Daein first. Each day, Soren and the army’s leadership met and tried to come up with a solution, but each day they failed. Micaiah ignored every one of Sanaki’s pleas.

In the meantime, the Daein Army was regrouping in a large, fortified, multiple-tiered castle called Nox. It stood between the Apostle’s Army and the closest entry to Begnion, so it seemed inevitable that they would have to lay siege. That being said, there was another fort with even stronger defenses less than two days away from Nox, and Soren didn’t understand why this supposedly intelligent general didn’t choose Fort Nebula instead. Nox had a greater number of entrances, which meant her forces would be spread thin. It also boasted fewer ballistae, and its sewers were older and more complex, making them more difficult to guard. All in all, the possible advantage Castle Nox possessed (if it could be called that) was the ancient and extensive library inside. But Soren couldn’t guess what subject of research would be so important as to warrant the increased risk.

Each day, Janaff, Ulki, and the other scouts brought in new reports, and it was toward the end of this two-week period that Soren learned that King Pelleas was supposedly in Nox Castle as well. If this was true, then defeating his garrison and capturing him could save the Apostle’s Army from potentially fighting all of Daein.

Soren brought this to Ike’s attention, but he didn’t seem interested in such a ploy. “I already promised Nailah we would let her and Rafiel try to talk to Micaiah,” he said, “Let’s hope that works so we won’t have to kidnap anyone.” 

This answer irritated Soren, because showing Micaiah mercy was the same as underestimating her. And he didn’t want to do that—no matter how the Apostle’s Army may outnumber Nox’s garrison. Daein’s behavior was too inexplicable, its soldiers had already proven to be extremely tough in battle, and its general cold-blooded in her strategy.

The one positive piece of news Soren received during this period was that Zelgius had successfully freed Sephiran from prison, and now the pair were leading an uprising in the heart of Begnion. This should give the Apostle’s Army enough time to get there, but that didn’t mean they could twiddle their thumbs in this fort forever. When the sick soldiers were strong enough to fight again, they marched out.

Each day on the road, Soren feared another ambush. But apparently Micaiah wanted to make Nox her last stand, because she did nothing to stop the Apostle’s Army from reaching it. Finally they arrived, making camp in a ruin just a couple hour’s march west of the castle. A thin but large forest mottled with hills and meadows filled the land between ruin and castle, which meant traveling from one to the other would be fairly easy. The weather had settled, and visibility promised to be good despite the snow that fell each night and had begun to collect on the ground in the morning.

Before making their siege, Soren and the others waited for Tibarn to come back with Ulki and Janaff’s final report. When he did, he was grinning. “We’re in luck, ladies and gents,” he said, “The previous reports weren’t wrong at all; Daein has hardly five thousand men.”

“Five thousand?” Ranulf repeated. “They aren’t really going to try to fight us with only five thousand men, are they? It’d be suicide!”

“Daein should know about the rebellion in the Empire by now,” Sanaki noted. “We should speak with them. They have nothing to gain by siding with the Senate. Why continue fighting?”

“We can’t afford to lose any more troops or time here, either,” Ike added with a frustrated shake of his head. “We should be at the senate’s doorstep by now.”

“Agreed.” Sanaki placed her palms on the table and rose gracefully from her seat. “Sephiran has earned some time for us. We can’t afford to lose that advantage. We must press on. Let us win this battle quickly and continue on our way.”

“Get the main gate down,” Nailah said, turning to Ike, “and Rafiel and I will find Micaiah.”

“You two might get into trouble going behind enemy lines like that…” Ike sounded uncertain despite this having been the plan for some time. “Are you sure?”

“There are few beorc with pointy sticks that can do me any harm,” Nailah replied slyly. When her confident expression did nothing to alleviate Ike’s worried one, she added: “Micaiah’s soldiers may remember me, and my vassal Volug is somewhere among them. He can vouch for us. We will be fine.”

“…Alright,” Ike finally agreed. “Let’s move out!”

Soren’s plan for this siege was to use their superior numbers to hit every entrance simultaneously, using all of the techniques the laguz had learned during their invasion of Begnion. Hawks dropped cats inside, tigers pulled away grates with chains and ox bows, lions battered down wooden doors, and beorc employed battering rams with rope loops slung over their shoulders to increase momentum. (Naturally, this was only after the vestiges of the Crimean and Begnion cavalry and infantry forces cleared the thousand troops stationed outside the castle.)

When the main gate was down, Ike drew his sword and charged inside, “Let’s finish this quickly!” he called, “All units, attack!”

Soren ran beside him, casting Elwind, Elfire, and Elthunder spells at every Daein soldier he could reach in the main bailey. When this area was clear, he grabbed Ike’s arm. “Let the laguz troops go,” he reminded, eyeing the first of the four tiers that comprised Nox’s defense. He had no doubt Micaiah was at the top, relaying orders to her troops in the other three tiers. But that was exactly why Ike needed to stay back and do the same from here. If Micaiah knew the first thing about her enemy, she would know that Ike’s uncharacteristic restraint was a sure sign he still wanted to give her a chance to choose peace.

“Yeah,” Ike grumbled, “I know.” He relaxed his stance slightly, and Soren let go of his arm, suddenly embarrassed for holding it too long.

A minute later, Nailah trotted into the bailey behind them. She had taken the form of a giant white wolf, but her cloth headdress was still looped over her ears such that it covered her lost eye. Rafiel was riding easily on her back, and together they looked like some sort of bizarre laguz-pegasus hybrid.

“Rafiel, are you ready?” Nailah asked, twisting her head to look back at him. “Let’s look for Micaiah. But do not leave my side; these beorc look edgy.”

“Yes, Queen Nailah. I’ll be closer than your own shadow.” Leaning down, he wrapped his arms around her neck.

The Wolf Queen pounced forward and started running. Soon she was loping up a stairwell that led to the second tier, deftly avoiding the other laguz and Daein soldiers caught in their own battles.

When they were gone, Soren turned his gaze to the catapults and scorpions raining terror on the laguz troops from above. The well-timed sprays of rock sent tigers and cats tumbling down any stairs they managed to climb, and the steel bolts were being fired with impressive accuracy, shooting down hawks and pegasi before they could get close.

Soren, Ike, and the majority of the mercenaries were waiting just within the main gate, barely out of range of the nearest ballistae. He was impressed with how Micaiah had adjusted the positions and range of the anti-siege weapons and optimized them for working within the walls. She must have known it wouldn’t take the Apostle’s Army long to gain entrance. She had also deployed her soldiers to take best advantage of the tiered terrain, despite their low numbers. To make matters better for her (and worse for the Apostle’s Army), she also seemed to have collected a small legion of healers bearing Physic staves. Although Soren couldn’t see them, he could assume they were clustered at the top of the castle with her, because sporadic bursts of green light radiated down from there, pulling injured soldiers back from the brink of death. Amazed at the long-range healing, the soldiers seemed to think themselves invincible, and they fought even harder.

The siege drew on longer than it should have, and Soren grew frustrated. Nailah and Rafiel hadn’t returned, and he could tell this was making Ike anxious. His fingers twitched, and Soren knew he wanted to fight.

Then an intense beam of white-hot light suddenly shot out of the sky, into the bailey. It toasted several tiger laguz, killed at least two instantly, and tossed others like rag dolls from the force of the flare. Soren shielded his eyes as another beam appeared on the second tier. Someone was using Purge spells, and whoever they were, they were incredibly powerful. Recalling that Micaiah was supposedly a light tome wielder as well as a healer, he realized he should have foreseen this possibility. Some light magic, like Thani and Purge, could be as damaging to beast laguz as fire magic, if not more so.

Another beam struck the bailey, where reserve troops were waiting. Titania’s new horse reared in fright, and Soren and Ike had to brace themselves against the light and rippling air pressure. When it disappeared, several tiger laguz were lying on the ground in their unshifted forms, their skin and clothes melted. While others pulled themselves up on shaky feet, three at the center of the blast did not.

“That’s it,” Ike growled, drawing his sword. “They’re getting roasted!”

He made to charge, but Soren grabbed his arm again. “If she waited this long to use her magic, she cannot possess many spells. We can simply wait for her to run out. The laguz troops are nearly to the top. She’s getting desperate.”

Ike stowed his blade again. “What’s taking Nailah so long?” he grumbled.

Although it was not an answer to his question, a voice fell over the battle: “Daein soldiers!” Micaiah called, her silver head appearing over the top of the fourth tier’s parapet. “Pull back immediately! Take up positions inside the keep! We won’t let them take us without a fight!”

This made Ike’s lips stretch into a grin, even if he didn’t seem particularly happy. “We’ll see about that!” he called. “Everyone, up the steps!” Drawing his sword, he led the charge up the center staircase, which covered two of the four tiers. Soren and Titania ran on either side of him. By now the ballistae had fallen silent, and few enemy soldiers were left on the first and second levels. Soren had a spell ready when they reached the third, and he helped the laguz here finish off the surviving Daeins covering their comrades’ retreat.

When they reached the fourth tier, they found the large keep doors firmly closed and barred from the inside. “Break down that gate!” Ike ordered. “If they won’t come out, we’ll just have to let ourselves in. All forces, advance!”

However, it appeared this inner gate was even tougher than the outer one, and it resisted their battering. As an added complication, the beast laguz here kept getting in the way—scrambling and scratching against the doors every time the battering ram was pulled back. Only Ranulf’s shouting and a few well-placed nips could convince them to move.

Other laguz were slinking in impatient circles, panting and hissing. Hawks were darting and diving through the air, shrieking constantly. Some were flying into windows, trying to break into the fort that way. Shattered glass cascaded to the ground. Soren had never seen the Gallian or Phoenician soldiers act this way before, and they suddenly seemed like feral ones.

The minutes ticked by, and the sense of aggravation surrounding the troops only grew. Soren flipped to a page of Elfire spells and took a few steps closer to Ike, ready to defend him if the laguz turned on their allies. He knew the fastest way down to the bailey, if it came to that. But chance of escape was slim; the laguz were everywhere.

“Ike! We have a problem!” Ranulf admitted, prancing over to him on anxious paws. He transformed and rubbed the back of his neck, glancing left and right at his fellow soldiers. At least he appeared in control of himself. “A big problem,” he continued, “All this chaos is really starting to affect the laguz. They’re on the verge of losing control, and I can’t stop them.” He shook his head. “If they find Micaiah, they’re going to tear her apart. I guarantee it.”

“Blast!” Ike growled, glancing around as if looking for someone. “We need to get them under control. Where’s Skrimir? Can’t he-”

“All units, get down NOW!” Tibarn’s voice exploded out of the sky, gaining even the battle-crazed laguz’s attention. The Hawk King himself was shooting out of the sky, straight for their position.

But more alarming was the giant silhouette flying in front of the sun behind him. It was growing larger, and Soren decided to take Tibarn’s advice. Seizing Ike’s arm with all his strength, he dragged him in the opposite direction, to the nearest stairs. Ike didn’t fight the pull, but he did throw out a hand to grab Mist and take her with them. The trio ducked into the slight protection of an archway at the top of the stairs. Titania and the rest of the mercenaries were right behind them, and the laguz soldiers were rushing to take whatever cover they could. Without slowing down, Tibarn ripped Reyson out of the air, pressing him into a corner and covering him with his body.

The black mass was easily recognizable as a dragon now, and with an ear-piercing whistle, it summoned a torrent of bright white light in its mouth. Then, flapping in place, it released that power in a beam of blue fire. With one toss of its head, the dragon’s breath cut straight through Nox’s north tower, part of the wall, and part of the castle’s peak as easily as a knife through butter.

The entire building shuddered under Soren’s feet, and stones started falling around him. The collapsing tower hit the ground with a deafening boom, and a plume of stone dust rose into the air. “Everyone, get out!” Ike shouted, shielding Mist’s head with his arm. Ranulf turned back into his cat form and started racing between the falling debris. Tibarn, Reyson, and the rest of the hawks took to the sky like a flock of crows disturbed from their roost. It was all Soren could do to cover his head and run as fast as he could.

However, the shuddering soon stabilized, and the dragon didn’t fire a second blast. It merely hung there, staring down at the castle. Ike and the others stopped running; everything became quiet. A pegasus appeared behind the dragon, and when it sailed closer, Soren could see both Elincia and Ena crammed into the saddle. His confusion only grew.

“All of you are ordered to throw down your weapons and cease fighting!” Ena shouted, raising her hand high. “Do this for your own welfare!”

“Ena! Elincia!” Ike called, struggling to step onto the third tier so he could better address them. “What’s going on here?” But they ignored him and flew closer to the keep, repeating their message where it would be easier for the Daeins inside to hear.

“It’s a black dragon of Goldoa…” Ranulf murmured, apparently unable to take his eyes off the beast. Soren couldn’t pretend he wasn’t just as baffled. There were only two black dragons left in existence: King Dheginsea and his son Kurthnaga. One of them had left Goldoa and was now here, inserting himself into the war in a way that Goldoa’s strict neutrality never should have allowed.

“Tibarn, what’s going on?” Ike demanded, when he and Reyson landed beside him.

“Why are you asking me?” Tibarn shook his head in bewilderment. “All I know is that I’m not ready to step up to a black dragon. Did you see that blast?”

“Point taken,” Ike replied, glancing around at the damage. “All units, retreat! Platoon commanders, gather you men!”

With that, they started picking his way down the steps and out of the castle. Just outside the main gate, Ike stopped to count each mercenary passing by, ensuring they were all accounted for. Meanwhile, Ranulf, Skrimir, and the rest of the laguz passed through. They were all bipedal now, and their necks were slumped in either exhaustion, disappointment, or shame—Soren couldn’t tell. But it was clear the sudden appearance of the dragon had snapped them out of their frenzy. They were once again submissive and docile under Ranulf and Skrimir’s orders, and they marched quietly back to the basecamp in the ruins. The beorc forces who’d been healing outside the castle walls were already moving back, with the help of the Holy Guards, whose pegasi ferried supplies and carried the injured.

Ike lingered, so Soren stayed with him. “Nailah and Rafiel haven’t come out yet,” he eventually noted.

“Perhaps they are inside with the Daeins,” Soren proposed, “Or perhaps they took another route out of the castle.”

“We will just have to trust Queen Nailah to take care of herself,” Titania offered calmly. “She will return to basecamp in her own time.”

Ike sighed and nodded, and together they walked away from the now lopsided-looking Castle Nox. Glancing at the sky, Soren saw that the dragon was gone—likely returned to his human form. But Elincia and Ena were still visible, flying above the retreating Apostle’s Army and apparently following them back to the ruins.

As soon as they arrived, Tibarn took Reyson to see Leanne and the medallion, despite the fact that being near it made Reyson sick. If the deterioration of the laguz on the battlefield had been any indication, the madness seeping out of the medallion needed to be quelled immediately. “Let’s keep both Reyson and Leanne on watch twenty-four-seven,” Ike advised. “At least until Rafiel comes back.” Tibarn didn’t seem to like it, but Reyson agreed and they rushed off.

Then Titania and Mist split away to organize the soldiers spilling into the infirmary. Kieran met Titania in the hall, and the pair immediately began sharing information about casualties and where the troops were being billeted among the ruins.

Soren listened until they were out of earshot, but then he, Ike, and Skrimir turned toward the stone cavern that had become their briefing room. Sanaki was already here hosting Elincia and Ena, who’d arrived ahead of them.

“Queen Elincia,” Ike said, looking both happy and angry to see her. The corners of his eyes were pinched, and his gaze searched hers. “What are you doing here? Who was that dragon? Why did you interfere?”

“Lady Ena and Prince Kurthnaga asked for my help,” she replied calmly, “We only want to end the fighting and bring peace between the Apostle’s Army and Daein.”

Ike turned to Ena. “Why does Goldoa care what happens here?”

Ena looked uncomfortable as she answered. “I… I cannot say at this time.” Her hand strayed uneasily to her stomach, and for the first time, Soren realized the slender dragon-woman looked a little different that the last time he’d seen her. Her gown was cut in a looser style, and she seemed thicker around the waist. Soren had to assume she was pregnant, but if that were the case, she would be carrying the first Goldoan infant in over a hundred years—which was even more of a reason Dheginsea would never have let her fly off to a battlefield.

Soren was distracted from his musings by Tibarn joining them.

“That dragon was Prince Kurthnaga?” Ike was saying with a shake of his head. “Sheesh, I thought the lions got big…”

“Ah, it’s the son, is it?” Tibarn said as he crossed the room. “I thought maybe the dragon king had shrunk a bit in his old age.”

“You all know the dragon prince of Goldoa?” Skrimir asked, apparently disappointed at being left out.

“Goldoa hosted a meeting of laguz royalty seven years ago,” Ranulf explained, “That’s when Tibarn and I met him.”

“Elincia and I met him around the same time,” Ike added. “I’d say he was a nice kid, except that he’s older than all of us put together.”

Ena nodded calmly as if to accept that compliment on Kurthnaga’s behalf. “The Prince hopes to avoid the complete destruction of Daein and its people. He wishes to stop the fighting. We would like you to implement a ceasefire and hold a peace talk.”

“We weren’t gonna destroy all of Daein,” Ike grumbled, while Sanaki responded to Ena’s request:

“We have attempted to hold peace talks with Daein on multiple occasions!” she countered, “They refuse to listen to reason and instead choose to fight. We have no more time to waste on people who choose war over peace at every turn!”

Ena tilted her head sympathetically and assessed the young empress with kind eyes. “Your people are waiting for you in Begnion. Is that what presses you?”

Sanaki was about to make some retort, when Ike answered: “It’s not just that,” he explained, “All of this strife and chaos has affected the medallion. It’s shining brighter each day!”

Elincia’s queenly demeanor faltered. “While that may be true…”

“The blue flame burns once more.” Ena closed her eyes a moment, and the place between her eyebrows twitched in sudden sorrow. “The light that radiates from the medallion looks like blue fire, doesn’t it?”

Tibarn nodded grimly.

“It’s this flaming aura that earned the medallion its other name,” she continued, “the Fire Emblem.”

“The Fire Emblem…” Sanaki repeated, as if she may have heard that term before.

“The flames of the Fire Emblem indicate the awakening of the Dark God,” Ena added (although everyone already knew that). “If the war is allowed to continue, nothing can stop the God’s awakening. We must cease this fighting.”

“If there is a way to stop the fighting, we shall do everything in our power to aid that effort,” Sanaki returned vehemently. “We have pursued peace since this began.”

“Then let us wait until Prince Kurthnaga returns,” Ena replied in consoling tones. “He is speaking with the leaders of Daein now.”

“Then I guess we wait,” Tibarn said with a sigh. “I’ll go check on Reyson and Leanne again.” With that, he departed.

“We should check on our troops,” Ranulf said to Skrimir, and they excused themselves next.

“If I might have a word, Ike?” Elincia turned to him. “There is something important about which I would like to speak with you privately.” Ike nodded, and they left the room. Soren wondered what she was going to tell him, but he was confident Ike would share if it was important.

Sanaki offered to take Ena somewhere more comfortable so she could rest, and Soren was left alone. He didn’t mind, however, because there was already a stack of scouting reports awaiting his attention at the end of the table. He also needed to determine the costs of this battle (both mortal and in coin) and write his own report for Ike to read later.

The work was a good distraction, but his mind kept turning to the events of the day. Micaiah and Pelleas’s warmongering made no sense. Tauroneo, Sothe, and the others’ support for them was illogical, and Ena and Kurthnaga’s decision to defy their king and come to Daein’s defense was unfathomable. It seemed everyone had hidden motives Soren could not guess, and it was incredibly frustrating. Everyone was keeping secrets, tensions were high, and he had no idea how to diffuse this situation.

Ike found him in the briefing room an hour later, and he was carrying a bowl of food. “Thought you might still be here,” he said with a yawn.

Soren pulled the gruel toward him and pushed his report away. “It is better to work than to worry myself over the end of the world, isn’t it?”

Ike leaned his forearms over the back of a chair and seemed suddenly deep in thought.

Soren changed the subject. “What did Elincia have to say?”

Ike shook his head. “She wanted to talk about Bastian. Apparently Lucia entered Daein right behind us, looking for him.”

“I did notice he was missing from Melior,” Soren replied. “Is he still on his secret mission?”

Ike cocked his head noncommittally. “According to Elincia, his mission was to find the Black Knight. After a year, he still didn’t have any leads. Then, in his last report, he said something important to Crimea had come up. After that, neither Elincia or Lucia heard from him again.”

“And Elincia didn’t have any clue as to what he was referring?”

Ike shook his head. “No, and she seemed worried about it. I told her the old goat is probably fine.”

“I’m sure he is… But still, it is yet one more element to this situation we do not fully understand.” Soren didn’t think he could handle any more mysteries at the moment.

Ike grimaced as if he felt the same way. “Anyway, Elincia and Lucia met up and she’s here too. I offered them and their escorts a place to stay with the Apostle’s Army. They’ll fight with us, if need be, but let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”

Soren looked down at the maps the scouts had been working to sketch since yesterday. He was already planning for a battle, but he decided not to tell Ike this. In fact, he shuffled his reports around so that the map and notes were half-covered; he didn’t want to crush Ike’s hope.

However, judging by the sideways twist of his mouth, Soren thought he probably realized what he’d been doing. “Get some rest when you finish that,” he said pointing to the bowl. “Everything else can wait.”

Soren nodded obediently, and Ike left. Suddenly, the briefing room felt incredibly empty.

It was still dark when Titania woke him, and Soren blinked blearily into the moonlight spilling through the cracks in the shutters. The windows in this ruin had no glass, so the outer rooms like this one were freezing. But it was still better than sleeping in a tent or on the ground like much of the army was currently doing. Soren didn’t want to get out from under his blanket, but if Titania had come to wake him so early, something had to be wrong. “What is it?”

“Scouts report that Daein has received reinforcements and they’re mobilizing outside Nox’s walls,” Titania whispered, as if the whole camp might hear her and panic if she spoke too loudly. “Ike wants to hear your deployment strategy.”

Soren stifled a yawn and swung his feet out of bed. “Coming.”

While Titania went to arrange more scouts, Soren proceeded to the briefing room, where Ike was already flipping through the maps and reports he’d left out. “How many reinforcements?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Looks like they have eight thousand in total now, and more could be coming,” Ike replied. “We still outnumber them, but being more evenly matched might embolden them to fight again.”

“Nailah and Rafiel are not back yet?”

Ike shook his head.

“What of Kurthnaga?”

“We haven’t heard a peep from anyone over on Daein’s side,” Ike explained, shaking his head again. “But we have to be prepared for the worst.”

“That is my specialty,” Soren replied, hoping he could alleviate Ike’s stress with a bit of false confidence. He moved the papers to expose the large map of the wooded region between the ruins and castle. “Skrimir and Ranulf can lead the laguz from the northwest, here. You and Elincia lead the mercenaries and beorc troops from the west, here. Tibarn comes around from the south, here. See how the meadows connect? We will be on converging paths and therefore able to support one another in a worst-case scenario on any one front. As an added advantage, this line of trees in the middle acts as a natural partial barrier-”

He was cut off by the door opening and Ena slipping inside. “Sir Ike…” she said, sounding almost dizzy. She had some sort of crystalline rock gripped in her fist, which she held close to her heart. “I’ve just received a very disturbing message from Prince Kurthnaga.”

“Don’t tell me…” Ike sighed. “No luck, right?”

“It is far worse than that.” Ena crept closer before falling still. “Prince Kurthnaga has decided to fight for Daein.”

“What! Why?” Ike exploded. “He was supposed to stop them from fighting! And now he wants to fight us instead? Oh, this is just perfect!” He threw his weight into a chair.

“He has a good reason to side with them…” Ena offered meekly. “But I’m afraid I cannot tell you why.”

“Wonderful.” Ike shot her an angry glare. “So we still have to fight Daein, and they’ve added one of the supposedly neutral dragons of Goldoa to their army?”

Soren had never seen Ike get this upset over a battle. He was scared, and Soren couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand why. They’d all witnessed Kurthnaga’s power yesterday, and that wasn’t an opponent he wanted to face.

“I’m sorry, Ike,” Ena said, and at least her tone was genuine. “I will try to reason with Prince Kurth again. It was the Prince’s wish to come here… King Dheginsea knows nothing of our visit. Be that as it may, for a prince of the dragon tribe to stand on a battlefield… It is unacceptable. I must talk him out of it.” Taking a seat at the end of the table, Ena propped up her elbows and held the stone cupped between both hands. Closing her eyes, her forehead wrinkled in concentration.

“I’m sorry, Ena, I know you’re doing your best to-” Ike seemed to notice her strange behavior. “Wait, are you talking to him with that stone?”

Ena’s eyes opened. “Yes. We dragons have the power to sense the presence of our allies with our telesthesia. If that ally is someone we care for very much, then we can communicate telepathically. With a sending stone, we can use this telepathy across extreme distances.” Closing her eyes again, she swung her head and adjusted her grip on the stone. “I just hope he listens to me. We can’t afford to fuel the flames of the Fire Emblem.”

Ike turned his attention to the sliver of a window at the end of the ancient room. “It’s almost dawn,” he noted. “Do what you can to convince the prince to stay out of this. I would’ve preferred to avoid a fight, but once again, Micaiah isn’t giving us much of a choice.”

“I will do my best, Sir Ike.”

He tried to return to battle strategy, but Soren didn’t want to say anything while Ena was still there. After all, she could use her telepathy to send the information to Kurthnaga and give Micaiah another advantage tomorrow. “Let’s wait until Ena’s done,” he whispered meaningfully, but Ike seemed to misunderstand.

“Oh, right, I bet she needs to concentrate.”

He and Soren continued to read reports and glance over at Ena every few seconds. Eventually she gave up and dropped the stone with an exasperated sigh.

“No answer?” Ike asked.

“He says he will not change his mind,” Ena answered. “He has his reasons… But perhaps he will realize his poor judgement when the chaos of war surrounds him. I will go to him on the field of battle; I will stop him then,” she vowed.

Ike looked surprised. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I mean aren’t you…with child?”

Ena’s hands fell to her lap, but she raised her chin to answer him. “Yes, but I am strong enough for this.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Ike replied, “It just doesn’t seem safe.”

“I will be fine,” Ena assured. “If I do not transform, I doubt the Daein troops will attack me.” Soren did have to admit she looked incredibly innocent—but that was exactly why he didn’t trust her.

“As long as you’re sure,” Ike conceded.

Ena nodded. “Thank you. I promise I will not hinder your troops.” With that she stood, bowed slightly, and left, taking the stone with her.

Ike scratched the back of his head with both hands as if he could scrub away a thought. Then he let his arms fall. “Bizarre, isn’t it? …I wonder who the father is.”

“Prince Rajaion, of course,” Soren returned, flipping back to the map. “Now, if Ena does embark on this fool’s errand, I recommend she slip through the trees between your and Skrimir’s battalions.”

“Wait, what do you mean?” Ike said, “Rajaion died years ago.”

Soren leaned away from the map, slightly embarrassed that he had to explain the birds and the bees to Ike. Then again, he only knew about laguz procreation from his extensive research of the Branded. “The gestation period of laguz varies widely from that of beorc—the dragon tribe most of all. Whereas a beorc infant develops in nine months, a dragon takes nine years. Although, actual growth only occurs in the final nine months, same as all laguz. Some beorc scholars theorize the extra time is required for the mother’s body to develop and pass on each laguz tribe’s unique transformation magic.”

Ike’s mouth was slightly agape. “I had no idea,” he finally said.

Soren shook his head. “It is one of the many differences between beorc and laguz. You cannot be expected to know them all.”

His mouth shrunk into a frown. “There aren’t that many differences.” Soren didn’t reply, and he came out of his pout. “What about Branded then?”

Soren had grown used to the dreaded word coming out of Ike’s mouth, and it no longer stirred his anxiety. He answered in stride: “Nine months, the same as beorc, no matter which parent possesses the laguz or Branded blood.”

Ike started to nod but then cocked his head in sudden confusion. “Wait, the children of Branded are Branded too?”

Soren wondered how this conversation had suddenly become an educational lecture on the nature of Branded, but since they were alone, Soren didn’t mind sharing what he knew. “Yes,” he said, “In whatever ratio laguz and beorc blood is mixed, no matter the number of generations, a Branded child can be born. Though…according to my research in the Mainal Cathedral, diluting the bloodline sufficiently with beorc blood may yield children who show no physical attributes such as a dermal mark or longevity. However, these traits may resurface in their own children. According to the books I read, no one knew for certain whether they could breed cursed blood out of a line. It was all largely speculative.”

Ike’s eyes were wide with wonder, but then he blinked and his expression became suddenly sad. “I guess there was a whole lot I didn’t know.”

“You can’t be expected to,” Soren said with a wave of his hand. “Now, about the battle…”

Ike shook his head, and his sadness gave way to indignance. “But why doesn’t anyone ever talk about the Branded?” he asked earnestly. “Everyone claims to want peace and equality between beorc and laguz, but they still treat people like you like you don’t exist!”

“Lower your voice,” Soren hissed. Although they’d picked this room (which was sunken into the cliffside) as their briefing room exactly because it was secure from spies, he didn’t want to risk alerting the guards outside.

Ike crossed his arms and frowned. “I’m not wrong.”

“While I’m honored by your idealism,” Soren returned dryly, “You are not being practical. Although we do exist, it would be better for everyone if we didn’t. The Branded complicate matters. Their existence should not be encouraged.”

“How can you say that?”

Soren shook his head and wished they could return to battle strategy. It was much easier to talk about. “Our lives are either too long or too short. I have explained this before.”

“Yeah, but I still don’t get what the big deal is.”

“Then ask yourself this—” Soren’s tone grew sharper than intended, but he couldn’t hold himself back “—would you want to watch Mist grow old and die while you remained the same? Do you think she would want you around as she got married, had kids, raised a family? Would she want you always looking over her shoulder? Now imagine watching all of your cherished mercenaries shriveling and sinking into the ground, while you never change at all. What if you had to live on without them for decades? A hundred years? Two hundred? What if you had no idea how long your natural lifespan would be, so you could never get close to anyone?” Soren’s voice lapsed into silence, and Ike just stared.

“That…” he finally responded, “That is only sad because you’re painting me as being alone that entire time.”

“That’s the point,” Soren shot back, wondering why Ike still couldn’t see the truth.

“Is that how you feel?” Ike asked gently. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

Soren leaned back in his chair, knowing there would be no reasoning with Ike on this subject. He was too optimistic. He didn’t have to face this reality, so he didn’t have to truly consider it. “Yes,” Soren admitted.

“I’m sorry…” Ike shook his head and no longer seemed able to make eye contact Soren hated his pity. “…But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

“I think we exhausted the educational merit of this conversation long ago,” he sighed, wanting to wash his hands of it. “To return to the issue at hand, Ena should travel through here.” He pointed at the map. “You attack from here. The core of Micaiah’s troops should be concentrated around here. Following the dip of the land, that means this area will be a key battle point. As of now, we cannot predict how she will deploy her newly acquired dragon, but even if we did, I fear there is little we can do to prepare…”

He continued giving his analysis, and Ike didn’t interrupt or try to return to their conversation about the Branded. For that he was relieved, and eventually he slowed down enough to let Ike speak. When he did, it was about strategy, and only then did Soren finally release the tension in his shoulders.


	17. CHAPTER 83: CHAOS

“Bad news,” Ike said, grabbing Soren’s arm and pulling him down the hall. Everyone else was leaving the ruins to line up in their platoons outside, but they were walking against the flow of bodies. “Nailah and Rafiel have been spotted in the enemy ranks. They joined Daein, just like Kurthnaga.”

“…That is bad news,” Soren agreed. At this point, it would have been better if the missing wolf queen and heron prince had been dead after all. 

Ike stopped outside the room that Soren knew housed Lehran’s Medallion. Despite the army’s leadership worrying over the blue flames, he hadn’t felt compelled to see them with his own eyes. Ike knocked on the door before letting himself in, and Soren followed reluctantly. Leanne and Reyson stopped singing when they entered. The princess was her usual luminescent self, but Reyson’s face looked nearly gray. On a stone table in the middle of the room lay the medallion, and sure enough, it was wreathed in slowly undulating, ghostly blue flames. The sight made Soren’s heart skip a beat, and his skin became clammy. He felt warm blood and soft, squishy flesh on his hands and had to glance at his palms to confirm nothing was there.

“What is it, Ike?” Reyson asked.

“Rafiel isn’t coming back; he and Nailah are on Daein’s side. We could use you on the battlefield. Leanne, can you handle the medallion on your own?”

She answered in the ancient language, but when Ike didn’t seem to understand, she made a shooing motion. “Brother…better with…you- you and Tibarn,” she stumbled to say.

Reyson said something in the ancient language that sounded grateful and then followed Ike and Soren out. Once the doors closed behind them, he looked relieved to be away from the medallion, but he also seemed disturbed. “What is Rafiel thinking?” he asked as they started down the hall.

“You can ask him if you see him. Honestly, I’d like to know too,” Ike said with a shake of his head. “You’ll be with Tibarn’s group. Watch his back, alright?”

“Gladly.” Reyson agreed, and as soon as they were out of the ruin’s front gate, he stretched his wings and took to the sky. Soren and Ike descended the steps and walked briskly to head of the beorc regiment.

Following the beat of Gallian drums, the three battalions marched to their starting positions. On the way, a hawk scout told Ike the Daein army had also begun marching. They would meet in the middle, just as Soren had predicted.

Ena was walking with the Apostle’s Army, dressed in winter boots and a thick cloak. The air was bitter, and there was still a thick layer of frost on the ground. The sky was overcast such that the sun was just a milky-white blotch glowing through the clouds. When they crested a small hill, Ena lifted a spyglass to her face. “Oh, Prince Kurth…” she breathed.

Soren squinted in the direction she was looking and wondered if the two tall, gray trees he saw poking over the forest weren’t trees at all, but the horns atop the Dragon Prince’s head. A shiver ran down his spine, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

“What will you do now, Ena?” Ike asked without slowing his pace. “Are you going over to the other side too?” There was a barb in his voice, and Soren knew Nailah and Rafiel’s betrayal had been the last straw in a heap of allies who’d abandoned him.

“King Dheginsea has expressly forbidden us from choosing sides,” Ena replied simply. “The dragon tribe must not fight. I shall only attempt to stop the Prince.”

Ike sighed, “Do what you need to do.” Ena split off toward the trees on their left, but he called after her: “Just be careful out there, alright?”

“Yes, Sir Ike,” Ena replied with a small bow. Then she resumed her brisk pace.

Elincia tapped her pegasus’s flank and took Ena’s place beside Ike. “We are nearly there,” she reported.

“Thanks, but Elincia…I think you should stay back,” Ike said suddenly. “If we get a chance for peace talks, I want you to mediate the whole show.”

Elincia hesitated a moment, but then she bowed her head. “Very well, I understand. Please be safe.” With a parting nod to Lucia, Elincia flicked her reigns, and her pegasus jumped into the air. Making a sharp turn as she climbed, she was soon flying back to the ruins where Sanaki, Leanne, and the merchants were hiding out.

A Gallian soldier rolled out a beat on his drum, signaling that they’d arrived at their destination. Soren checked the sun’s position; they were right on time. A hawk scout flew overhead, announcing that the Daein vanguard was only a quarter mile away. Since there was a good deal of meadow in front of him, Soren knew this meant the soldiers would be popping out of the trees any moment. A flock of dracoknights was already visible flying above them.

“Okay, everyone, get moving!” Ike called, drawing Ragnell from its sheath. “Let’s get this mess over with!” It wasn’t a particularly heroic speech, but when he started running down the hill, everyone roared and ran with him.

When the first row of Daeins set foot on the frosted grass, the first volley of arrows flew from the Crimean and Begnion archers—Rolf and Shinon among them.

When the second line stepped out, a jagged bolt of lightning swept through their ranks: a long-distance Bolting spell, courtesy of Ilyana.

“*Spirits of the wind, freeze and destroy my enemy yonder!*” Soren chanted the words to Blizzard, successfully sending a swirling wave of freezing wind into the third line.

By the time the fourth line appeared, Ike and the others had reached them with swords, axes, and spears in hand. Shields, fists, and helms clashed. Skulls were cracked, beards and hair pulled, eyes stabbed, jaws dislocated, necks snapped, teeth knocked out, and joints twisted. People were pushing and pulling one another, tripping and jumping, ducking, rolling, and getting back up.

In the midst of it all was the blood: the same thick, red, dreadful blood that Soren had become so accustomed to seeing since becoming a mercenary. And yet, now it seemed completely new and uncanny. Sometimes the blood was speckled gray with bits of brain, other times brown with excrement or human offal. Sometimes it gushed in such quantities that, cast in a shadow of someone hunched over, trying not to die, it looked black.

Soren didn’t know why this suddenly felt like the first time he’d ever seen a battle. He imagined he’d been dropped here accidentally, after coming from a different world. He knew not fear nor disgust, because those things did not exist wherever he’d been before. He acted on instinct and muscle memory, but he felt as if his body were someone else’s. This body’s tongue knew such dangerous words, and it funneled these words out of its lungs, giving life to reaping winds.

“*Spirits of the wind, rip apart these skies, lay waste to my enemy!*” Soren summoned Tornado, churning up a vortex just as small snowflakes began falling out of the heavy sky. They fell into the winds, showing just how fast they were whipping. (But the flying bodies were another clear indicator of that.)

When the gusts faded, two soldiers didn’t move, three got up dizzily only to die by other hands, and one retreated, holding a gash in the side of his head. Soren wondered how far he would hobble before succumbing to his injury.

But he didn’t have time to wonder long. A Daein swordsman stabbed at his face, and Soren bent his neck out of the way. He stepped back at the same time, because he could see this man already stepping forward for the next strike. Soren started chanting: “*Spirits of flame-*”

Now two slashes came, and Soren dodged them both, still moving backward. He heard hooves behind him; a Daein paladin was approaching. “*-molten rock-*” he continued, sidestepping around the swordsman. The bladr followed him, but he narrowly avoided it again and finished the spell: “*-lay waste to my enemy.*”

He conjured Bolganone as soon as the paladin reached him, and the airstream from the rider’s axe brushed the top of his head as he ducked. An instant later, the horse’s hooves sunk into the lava and it toppled. While sustaining the spell as long as he could, Soren grabbed the surprised swordsman by the lower strap of his breastplate and swung him into the spell too, using all of his bodyweight to create enough force. When both soldiers were dead (and the horse close to), he let the spell fade and the earth cool.

When it did, Soren heard the pattering sound of arrows hitting hard dirt and soft bodies. The sound was growing louder, so he ran. The arrows pursued. “*Spirits of wind-*” he began, while covering his head and keeping low. When he reached a fallen Begnion knight, he rolled and grabbed the man’s shield. “*-follow my hand-*” he continued, lifting the shield and curling behind it. Arrows clattered against the metal, but when they finally stopped, Soren ran out from his hiding place and unleashed the spell: “*-Blast their flesh*!”

The winds coursed in a wide arc, taking out the two archers on the end. Six more remained. The patter of arrows began again, but they were slightly fewer now. Soren ran, changing direction whenever he judged they were about to release their bowstrings. “*Spirits of wind, follow my hand. Blast their flesh!*” He released the same spell, but in a different arc this time. The gust shot into four of the remaining bowmen, bowling them over and slicing them up in the process. One died instantly. Two tried to retreat, hissing and clenching their wounds. The last propped herself up on one knee and knocked another arrow despite the blood running into her eyes. The two untouched by the spell continued firing.

Soren dropped to avoid these shots, and then swiftly countered with one of his own: “*Spirits of wind, slash the flesh before me.*” The simple Wind spell was enough to finish off the kneeling archer and knock down the other two, which he eliminated with another spell as they tried to get up.

“*Spirits of flame,” chanted a different voice—an enemy fire mage, “follow my hand. Scorch their flesh!*”

Soren turned around in time to predict the trajectory of the attack. Leaping forward, he scarcely avoided the falling ball of flames. He countered with an Elwind spell, but the mage ducked nimbly while chanting three Fire spells in a row.

Three brilliant balls of flame floated in the sky without dropping, and Soren rushed to summon a Wind spell. But he couldn’t finish before the mage dropped all three fireballs with slightly different trajectories. Soren struggled to avoid them, but when the last one came for him, he held his ground and released his prepared Wind spell. It was blunt but large, and it blew the fire right back at the surprised mage. While the flames burst into his face, Soren followed underneath them.

When he had closed the space between the mage and himself, Soren tackled him to the ground, seized his tome from his skinny fingers, and tossed it as far as he could. The mage clearly didn’t know how to react. He struggled to push Soren off while stuttering through another Elfire spell, but Soren didn’t give him time to finish it.

“*Spirits of wind, slash the flesh -*” he began, throwing himself off of the mage before finishing the spell, “*-before me!*” A strong gale took his place, holding the mage to the ground, and then it turned sharp, piercing him into it.

Soren couldn’t dwell on his victory, because the shadow of a dracoknight was coming toward him, which meant the wyvern itself would reach him in an instant. Soren threw himself onto his stomach, and the tip of the rider’s axe grazed his back, cutting through his cloak and skin. However, it didn’t sever any ribs or—fortunately—his spine. He was alive.

Rolling onto his back now, Soren pinned his gaze on the dracoknight, which was banking as it rounded on him. Taking a (proverbial) page out of the dead mage’s book, Soren used the time it would take the wyvern to return to chant three simple Thunder spells. The air crackled with latent energy, but he didn’t unleash a single one—not yet. The dracoknight had nearly reached him now, leaning with his poleaxe hanging over the beast’s side.

Finally Soren released the three spells in rapid succession. The first struck in front of the wyvern, shocking it and sending it spiraling into the second. The third struck when the wyvern crashed into the ground, finishing it and its master.

Soren pulled himself onto his feet, glad the triple-casting hadn’t exhausted him too much. But just then, he heard another Elfire spell being chanted behind him. Twisting around, he wondered how the mage could be alive, only to see that another had appeared. It was too late to avoid the fireball, so Soren merely raised his cloak, turned his back, and let the force of the blast knock him into the cold dirt. Ripping off the burning cloak, Soren whipped around and unleashed another Thunder spell. This one struck the mage, causing him to shake violently. Soren sustained the spell as long as he could, and when he let it go, the mage was certainly dead.

Breathing hard, Soren took a moment to ensure he wasn’t still on fire, then he ran off in search of his next victim. He was surrounded by soldiers in white and red armor fighting hand-to-hand with soldiers in black armor. He chanted quick Wind and Fire spells to help them as he passed, but he didn’t linger. He wanted to reach the place where the rest of the mercenaries were fighting, which wasn’t far away, and yet it seemed to take a long time to get anywhere on this battlefield.

When they came into view, Soren’s vantage point allowed him to see yet another Daein archer regiment stomping within range. They were about to fire, and Soren couldn’t do anything to stop them—but he could lay waste to them after. “*Spirits of the wind, freeze and destroy my enemy yonder!*” he incanted another Blizzard spell. He would only have three left after this, but it was worth the expense to send freezing blades of wind and ice into the archers—frosting their pauldrons, desiccating their bows, peeling their exposed flesh, knocking them off their feet, and crushing those unlucky enough to be caught in the center.

Laguz rushed in to finish the job, and for the first time, Soren realized they’d met up with a section of Skrimir’s force. He hadn’t even noticed the progress they’d made. Thinking back, he dimly remembered fighting in the trees a short while ago. But he didn’t remember how he’d become separated from the rest of the mercenaries. Taking stock of his injuries, he found that he was bleeding from his back and one of his hands was burned. At least he remembered these injuries, but there was also a cut on the side of his arm, a scratch on his jaw, and a throbbing feeling in his wrist that he couldn’t recall the source of. Now that he thought about it, he didn’t have a clear idea of how long this battle had been going on, or where exactly he was on the battlefield.

But neither did he have time to resolve his confusion. Someone had just flung a spear at him, so he jumped out of the way. The owner came to retrieve it, swinging another pike as she did so. Soren retreated, but once she had both weapons in hand, each came spinning at him in earnest. Left, right, stab; right, left, stab; stab up, stab down; spin, swipe at feet—Soren avoided the pikes’ sharp points, barely reading the spearwoman’s body language in time to dodge each strike. But eventually he did manage to pant out the words to an Elfire spell. At such close range, the pressure forced Soren to backpedal too, but the spearwoman got the worst of it. She was thrown backward, and where she fell onto the ground, she immediately started sobbing and rolling to put out the flames. But Soren wouldn’t let that happen. He continued to fuel the fire until she died a few moments later, nothing but a charred husk within her armor.

An arrow ripped into his shoulder from behind, and Soren fell to one knee. But he caught himself before falling completely and started chanting another spell. Turning around, he saw four mounted archers heading his way, firing sporadically. “*Spirits of the wind, rip apart these skies, lay waste to my enemy!*” he uttered the words to Tornado, ignoring the second arrow that caught him right next to the first (from the front this time). He stumbled backward but remained standing. Meanwhile the spiraling winds corralled the horses and then surged inward, sending them to the ground, kicking and screaming. The riders tried to disentangle themselves, but the hungry winds found them too, biting and gnawing until Soren let the spell end and the winds disperse.

He was tired. He was in pain. His magic power was waning. He knew these things to be true, but he couldn’t bring himself to really worry about them or even really feel them. That being said, he couldn’t move his arm, which was inconvenient. The arrows awkwardly sticking out of his shoulder didn’t seem like they should be there, so Soren clumsily moved his feet toward the nearest healer: a Crimean cleric.

The white-cloaked man was quaking in his boots as he stared at the battle around him. He had wide, pale-blue eyes, and a curl of pink hair was escaping his cowl. He clutched his staff close to his chest and didn’t move from the spot.

“Fix this,” Soren ordered, and the sound of his own voice surprised him despite the fact that he’d been casting spells this whole time. Shaking his head, he tried to clear the fog from his mind. Something was wrong; he should be able to focus. He should know what was going on around him. He always did.

With this thought in mind, Soren attuned his attention to the battle while the cleric worked. The first thing he noticed was the lack of human speech. People weren’t warning their allies, encouraging their friends, or sharing banter with their enemies. Everyone was locked in their own battles, caring only for the opponent immediately in front of them. Soren realized he’d been no different just a moment ago.

“Sorry, sorry,” the cleric hissed when he ripped out one arrow after the other.

“It’s no problem,” Soren said, just to hear his own voice again.

“*Heal*,” the cleric commanded, holding his staff close to the two wounds. As expected, pain exploded through his shoulder, and the muscle tissue resisted the cleric’s control. Soren just gritted his teeth and let him work.

“Sorry,” he hissed again, “I’m usually better at this, I swear. It’s just this battle…” He bit his lip.

“It’s not your fault,” Soren said, although he didn’t actually care for the healer’s feelings and wasn’t about to explain that it was his own fault for having laguz blood in his veins. Instead he turned his attention to the part of the battle that was loudest.

Ike was over there—of that, Soren was certain. The other mercenaries were deployed around him, and unlike the Gallians, Phoenicians, Begnions, and Crimeans who were merely roaring, screaming, shouting, and shrieking wordlessly as they fought, the mercenaries were still talking to one another. Soren decided he needed to get over there, but moving through this battle was like swimming through mud.

Finally the cleric finished. “There’s a scar; sorry,” he said, “Should I take care of your back as well?”

Soren shook his head and stood up. The cut on his back was shallow enough that he wasn’t worried about it, and now that he was thinking more clearly, he wanted to get back to Ike as soon as possible.

He ran down the slightly sloping hill, jumping over or stepping around dead bodies as if it were an obstacle course. But this went on too long, and the Greil Mercenaries still seemed so far away. Soren was waylaid by other attackers, so he bit into them with ravenous blades of wind. He needed to get through them. He needed to get beyond them. He needed them to fall in pieces so he could navigate over their oozing bodies. He almost forgot why.

A short, silver blade joined the long, invisible gusts, and only when the blood-slicked hilt slipped from his grasp did Soren realize he’d drawn his dagger and was wielding it alongside the wind spells—something he didn’t usually do. He wasn’t adept with the weapon, and his sloppy movements left him open to enemy blows.

Taking deep, haggard breaths, he slowed down and tried to look around again. He stopped chanting and picked up the fallen knife with shaking hands. Returning it to his belt, he sidestepped, ducked, and dodged his enemies’ weapons, trying to escape the melee. He reached out with his Branded sense, looking for Ike again. He tried to keep his mind clear this time, but not knowing how long it would last, Soren took off running as soon as he located him.

When he finally reached the mercenaries, he found them embattled with a small regiment of people lacking Daein’s traditional black armor. He ran past Lucia sparring with a young, brown-haired swordsman in a red jerkin. He passed Rolf ducking behind a horse’s corpse, trading shots with a pale, yellow-haired bowman who’d just ducked behind a tree. He passed Boyd clashing axes with a middle-aged man with a goatee. He passed Gatrie bashing his shield against that of a young but vast woman in orange armor. He passed Oscar jousting with a dark-skinned horsewoman in cerulean plating. Then he passed Mia facing off against Zihark again, and this finally gave him pause.

He realized these must be Micaiah’s friends—her chosen guard. _Could she be nearby?_ he wondered, and he didn’t know if the thought’s urgency came from hope or fear. There was no sign of her, but she could easily be stationed just beyond the tree line. With this thought in mind, Soren resumed his race to Ike’s side.

When he reached him, he was cracking the neck of a Daein halberdier. Dropping the twitching body, Ike swiftly kicked an axwoman behind her knee and stabbed her through the heart from the back. Only then did he turn to Soren. “How goes the battle?” he asked, panting hard.

“I- I can’t really tell,” Soren admitted. “I think we are evenly matched, but…” He shook his head. “I can’t tell who is winning. It is chaos everywhere.” Another axwoman was running toward them, perhaps to avenge her sister-in-arms, so Soren uttered an Elthunder spell to eliminate her.

Ike nodded and spat out a glob of blood and saliva. He looked pretty battered. “Ranulf was here a little while ago; he said he’s losing control of his troops. It’s a free-for-all out here.” As if to emphasize his words, he swept his blade into a swordsman running toward him.

“How long ago was that?” Soren asked, using a Wind spell to kill an archer who’d just taken aim.

Ike looked confused. “I, uh… I don’t know.”

Soren nodded his understanding. “Have you seen Tauroneo or Sothe? Or Nailah and Rafiel?” Two shield knights were stomping toward them, so he and Ike worked together to defeat them. Ike caught and deflected their blows, and when their guards were down, Soren electrocuted them with Elthunder.

“No,” Ike finally answered, “I haven’t seen them, but Kurthnaga’s over that way.” He jerked his chin to the side, where Soren now noticed the dragon’s head and shoulders over some low trees. He was turned away from the battle, with his wings bunched and his clawed hands hovering near his snout. “Maybe they’re there too.”

“Do you think Ena has spoken to him yet?”

“I don’t know,” Ike replied, turning his attention to a couple of swordsmen approaching him—one on each side. He rotated slowly to keep them in sight.

Soren knew he could handle the pair, so instead, he turned his magic on a lance paladin cantering in their direction. He chanted an Elfire spell and then lunged out of the way. The horse caught fire as it passed.

Just then, Janaff swept overhead in his hawk form. Hovering for a moment, he called down: “Hey Ike! The enemy general just left the field! Tibarn thought you should know!”

“Micaiah left? Why? Where’s she going?”

“Not sure yet,” Janaff admitted, “We lost her. Everything’s a bit of a mess.”

Ike nodded. “Thanks for the report!”

Janaff crowed in reply and took off back toward the southern front, where hawks and wyverns were densest in the sky.

Soren turned his attention back to the battle surrounding him. The mercenaries had closed in more tightly, protecting their leader while he and Janaff had spoken. Now Ike pushed his way out of the center, tackling the first enemy soldier he saw.

Meanwhile a small cavalry platoon was charging between the tree trunks, coming from the clearing where Kurthnaga was cowering. Soren wondered if he and the other mercenaries might be straying too close to where Micaiah and her advisers had been deployed. Even if the general was no longer there, it was a dangerous place to be. Soren considered advising Ike to move either north or south to aid the laguz troops, but he didn’t have a chance.

There were more horsemen coming than he’d previously thought. Conjuring Blizzard yet another time, Soren managed to disrupt their formation and kill a couple before they reached the mercenaries. Ike and the others formed up to meet them, but those who’d avoided the winds hadn’t lost much momentum. Fortunately Kieran, Astrid, Makalov and the other surviving Royal Knights had formed a charge of their own, and they came running to flank the Daein cavalry and spare the mercenaries from being completely trampled or skewered.

Soren didn’t waste time watching them. There were too many enemies to let his guard down now. Using a combination of Elfire and Elwind spells, he managed to knock a few riders from their saddles, killing them while their horses galloped away. One, unfortunately, galloped straight into him, bruising his chest and shins and knocking the wind out of him.

Pulling himself to his feet and struggling to suck air back into his lungs, Soren’s gaze momentarily fell on Mist, who was rocking in her saddle as if dazed. She slipped to the side and fell, hardly trying to catch herself.

“Mist!” Titania cried, spurring her horse forward. Upon reaching her, she ran in a circle, calling to see if she was okay. Soren started running over as well. Mist was rubbing her head, and her face looked ashen. When she didn’t respond, Titania jumped from her saddle and fell to her knees at her side.

“Mist! Mist, are you okay?” Boyd called frantically. Then he turned to the others: “Form up! Protect them!” Those within earshot made a protective circle around the two women, but Soren ducked inside to see what was going on. With a closer look, he reaffirmed that Mist didn’t seem particularly injured. No arrow had hit her, and she wasn’t bleeding badly from any wounds. In fact, the worst injury he could see was her broken wrist from the fall. Yet that didn’t even seem to concern her. While Titania cradled her arm, Mist stared at the sky.

“Ike! I need you over here!” Titania called above the clash of battle. “Something’s wrong with Mist!”

Ike was already on his way, having heard the commotion. Now he ran even faster, until he burst into the middle of the circle at breakneck speed. “Mist? Mist!” he cried, and Soren could feel his anxiety mounting. It was like a contagion, infecting all of the mercenaries. They fought harder but sloppier. Turning around, Soren unleashed a couple Elwind spells to do his part. “Mist, what’s wrong?” Ike asked, kneeling down.

“Ike…” she answered feebly, “My head… It hurts so much… It’s the medallion.”

“What do you mean?” he demanded.

“The medallion is calling out to me… Please, Ike… Take me to it…” Soren turned around in time to see the girl slump against Titania, completely limp.

“Mist! Talk to me! Wake up, please!” Ike begged.

“Go, Ike!” Titania urged, pushing Mist’s body into his arms. “Get her out of here!” Popping to her feet, Titania grabbed her own horse’s reins and pulled it over.

“But-” Ike tried to protest, but Titania was already trying to push and pull him into the saddle. Ike gave in and lifted his foot to the stirrup. When he was seated, Titania adjusted the way Mist’s limp body leaned against his lap.

“Leave everything to us!” she promised, “You have to take care of Mist now. See what’s going on with the medallion!” Ike nodded, and Titania slapped the stallion’s flank to send it into a canter.

When Ike was gone, it was like a thread had snapped. Soren’s concentration waned, and he lost his connection to the battle around him. He fought on reflex, summoning flames, winds, and bolts of electricity to take out or send away any person who charged at him with murder in their eyes. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but eventually he gathered his thoughts again.

He slowed down, absorbed the details around him, and tried to think about what he wanted to do. He needed a goal to work toward, instead of just running around the same area, fighting off the seemingly limitless Daeins. His eyes fell on Kurthnaga’s bent shoulders. Not long ago—maybe only a moment—Soren had been about to recommend they avoid Micaiah’s top aides until they had a stronger striking party, but now that Ike was gone, it seemed the only goal worth moving toward. The irrationality of this change of heart was not lost on him, but his mind was not entirely his own right now.

“Titania!” he called, “If Micaiah is not on the field, we should press forward and take out her advisers and generals!” He pointed to the sparse tree line separating them.

“But the dragon…” Titania countered hesitantly. She was fighting from the back of Mist’s horse.

“If the prince hasn’t joined the battle yet, we have to assume his presence is just a bluff,” Soren explained, although he wasn’t sure he believed it. “Ike isn’t here, so he is out of harm’s way. There is no reason not to try.”

Titania nodded firmly. “To me, everyone!” she called, swinging her axe above her head. “We’re going to end this now! Greil Mercenaries, to me! Royal Knights of Crimea! Holy Guards of Begnion! To me! We charge now!”

She turned her horse and galloped for the trees without checking to see if anyone would follow. But Soren was there. Sigrun and Tanith appeared, flying above her, and Kieran led the Royal Knights to catch up to her charge. Lucia was soon running beside Soren, and Boyd appeared on his other side. Soren even saw Rhys running faster than he’d ever seen him—as if he were determined not to be left behind. Everyone ran, heedless of danger. Ike’s absence didn’t seem to weigh on them. If anything, there was a strange levity in the air. Soren felt it too.

In the meadow beyond the trees, Kurthnaga was hunched away from the battle, and he hardly stirred when the beorc battalion appeared. As Janaff had reported, there was no sign of Micaiah (or Sothe for that matter), but Tauroneo was here, along with Nailah, Rafiel, and a gray wolf slightly smaller than the queen. The four were clustered around a young man wearing rich gold and white robes over a long, blue silk tunic. Although he didn’t wear a crown, Soren immediately realized this must be King Pelleas. Aside from his pale skin and wavy blue hair, he didn’t look much like his father. He looked skinny and weak.

There was also an ample reserve force here—mostly infantry and cavalry, with a few dracoknights—and they rushed to meet their attackers and defend their king. Soren summoned thunder magic to deal with the dracoknights first, and fighting erupted around him.

When they were no longer beset from above, Soren turned his gaze to the ground troops. He immediately saw that Titania had lost Mist’s horse and was now fighting on foot against Tauroneo. Sigrun was sparring with Nailah by darting in and out of her range. Tanith was doing the same thing with the other wolf, who must have been Nailah’s vassal: Volug. Rafiel was chanting his galdr to support the two wolves, and it seemed no had the nerve to stop him.

Soren, however, did. He was preparing a blunted wind spell, when the heron prince suddenly collapsed without anyone having touched him. Nailah rushed to his side in an instant, but Sigrun didn’t take advantage of her lapse in attention. The wolf queen called and barked into Rafiel’s face, but the heron didn’t stir. Giving up on waking him, she bent down and wriggled until the frail winged man was draped over her withers. Soon she was bounding off—but Sigrun didn’t pursue. Soren understood her restraint. Something was going on here, and killing the queen of Hatari wasn’t going to change anything.

A couple moments later, Soren heard Tibarn’s voice echo across the trees to the south: “REYSON!” Soren twisted toward the sound, but there was nothing to see but the ongoing battle between hawks and wyverns. Neither the Hawk King nor Reyson were in sight. He wondered if this meant Reyson had fainted too, just like Mist and Rafiel. Something was indeed going on—something concerning the medallion.

Just then, a rumbling voice distracted him from his thoughts. Words were falling from the black dragon’s mouth, and Soren turned toward them. “My body feels like it’s on fire…” the prince complained with his eyes clamped shut. “So this is what war feels like…”

His speech drew the attention of a couple cat laguz who’d followed the beorc here. Yowling, they ran at the dragon despite their stark difference in size. “No, please, don’t come near me…” He shuffled away. “I don’t want to hurt anyone!”

The cats started scratching and climbing his scaly legs (to little effect). “Don’t come near me!” the dragon begged, “I can barely… I don’t want to do this! Get away!” With his final words, he batted the cats off him, and when they got onto their paws once more, Kurthnaga blasted them with a beam of blue fire, destroying them utterly and blowing a crater into the ground. When he was finished, he shuffled farther away.

Soren decided to follow the Dragon Prince’s warning and stay away from him. Despite his power, it seemed he didn’t have the constitution for battle. As long as he wasn’t attacked, he probably wouldn’t fight of his own volition. With this thought in mind, Soren turned to his next target: King Daein.

With his guards distracted, Tauroneo preoccupied, and Nailah gone, he was remarkably exposed. “Pelleas!” Soren called to get his attention, “New king of Daein!”

The man didn’t refute the claim, which was a good sign Soren had presumed his identity correctly. The young king merely assessed Soren with interest while drawing a spell book from his hip. From what Soren could tell, he carried a light tome on his left and a dark tome on his right. It was the dark tome he held now. Although Soren had never heard of the prince fighting during the rebellion, he knew it would be a mistake to underestimate him.

“How convenient,” he continued, feigning confidence. “I can end this farce right now. Surrender or die.”

“Who are you?” Pelleas said in return, apparently ignoring the demand.

Soren whispered an Elwind spell: a first strike to show he meant business. The lance of wind shot out, but Pelleas didn’t even try to avoid it. A pillar of darkness erupted from his shadow, stretching to block the gust. Pelleas’s blue locks swayed in the breeze, but he was completely unharmed.

Soren could hardly believe what he’d just seen—Pelleas had used magic without an incantation. Although it was possible he’d uttered and sustained the spell as a defensive measure before Soren had arrived, he doubted it.

“That mark on your forehead…” Pelleas observed. “Is it a mark of Spirit’s Protection?”

“…No,” Soren answered honestly. “It’s something quite different.” He uttered a Wind spell as another test. Once again, the shadow leapt to block it. Now Soren was fairly certain dark spirits were protecting Pelleas of their own accord.

“But that shape,” the young king continued, taking a step forward. “It looks so much like mine!” Lifting his bangs off his forehead, he revealed a strange symbol. Although the design was different, the size and placement were the same.

However, Soren’s senses told him that this man was merely a beorc, not a Branded nor laguz—which meant his mark really was that of a Spirit Charmer. “Is that so?” he mused with a smile, finding it oddly humorous that he was finally meeting a real Spirit Charmer after being mistaken for one much of his life. A laugh bubbled in his diaphragm, and he struggled to keep it down. “You might be more powerful than you let on,” Soren continued when he’d regained control of his voice. “Still, I doubt this changes anything. Prepare yourself, Pelleas.” Spitting the last word, he switched languages and immediately began chanting the words to Tornado.

“But wait! There’s so much that I want to ask you!” Pelleas flinched when he finished his incantation, but the spell didn’t surge toward him.

Instead Soren centered the spell around himself, willing it to stay dormant until it was needed. He may not have been a Spirit Charmer, but wind spirits had always obeyed his command. He had to trust this affinity now and hope they would be patient under the yoke of his will. The winds settled into a low, gently rotating circle only a couple inches off the ground. They gyrated around Soren, frustratedly tugging at his control, but he commanded them stay where they were. If Pelleas was clad in an armor of shadows, Soren would need his own.

“Interesting,” Pelleas observed. “I see you have skill as well.”

Soren didn’t reply, instead chanting the words to Thoron. “*Spirits of lightning-*”

Pelleas began chanting his own spell, “*Eclipse-*”

“*-surge great-*”

“*-Spirits of darkness-*” The shadows around Pelleas intensified, gathering their strength.

“*-and lay waste to my enemy!*” Soren released the spell, and the double helix of lightning struck down on Pelleas—or rather the shield of shadow that formed above his head.

“*-and devour the flesh of my enemy!*” Pelleas finished, quite safe.

Soren struggled to keep up the flow of electricity, refusing to release the spell. A wave of darkness washed over him, and for a moment, he could no longer see the young king. But the tornado around him leapt to life, shredding the wave before dropping back down, weaker than before. Soren refused to let it fade away entirely, but to do that, he did have to release Thoron.

The orb of crackling light fell on Pelleas, who dropped to one knee under the pressure, but the spirits of darkness bound to him absorbed most of the spell, defusing the electricity in pops of black smoke and tiny blue veins of lightning.

Soren was already chanting his third Elwind spell by the time Pelleas got to his feet, chanting the same spell again. Soren had read up on dark magic while in Melior (something he’d been meaning to do ever since facing the dark mages at the senator’s camp). And recalling his research, he thought the magic Pelleas was using must be Carreau: a particularly difficult and dreadful spell. Soren didn’t want to know what would happen if it touched him, so he channeled even more of his strength into his swirling ring of protection.

Pelleas released his Carreau first, because Soren had decided to add a couple Elfire spells to the barrage he was preparing. The wave of darkness was even larger this time, enveloping Soren from the front and back. He ducked, making himself small, and the walls of wind pressed in around him, spinning faster and faster to deflect the darkness.

But wafts of shadow were seeping inside, and Soren felt them settle on his skin like a poisonous dew. He broke into a cold sweat, feeling death’s hand reach into his bones wherever the shadows touched.

But then, finally, the darkness faded, and it wasn’t a moment too soon because the Tornado spell finally broke. Soren’s armor was gone, and he wouldn’t survive another Carreau. Turning his gaze on Pelleas, Soren could finally aim the five spells he’d conjured. They were pulling on him now, eager to be freed.

First he drew out Pelleas’s protective shadow with a wide, dousing wind. Then he struck Pelleas from both sides with the fireballs. King Daein stepped back, raising his arms in defense, but he didn’t have to. The shadows were still doing their job, expanding and lurching to protect him. Next Soren released the second Elwind spell close to the ground, straight for Pelleas feet. Enough made it past the shadows to slash his ankles, and he fell.

Soren was running toward him now, and he heard the young king chanting another spell from where he was stuck on his knees. Finally reaching him, Soren punched him in the face before he could finish the words. A blow from Soren’s fist wasn’t much of a threat, but it did disrupt the spell and save him.

A moment later, the shadows already surrounding Pelleas surged to push Soren off him. Once again that feeling of cold death sunk into his arms and chest, sucking the life out of him and causing his heart to beat slower.

Pelleas was chanting again, but Soren released the final Elwind spell he’d been holding onto. It struck Pelleas from behind, and the shadows could do nothing to stop it, because they were currently consumed by the task of eating away Soren’s flesh and lifeforce.

The young king gasped in surprise, and blood erupted from his mouth. The spirits attacking Soren immediately surged back to their master, coalescing into his shadow and disappearing. Pelleas fell forward and caught himself on his palms. “To die in this lonely place…should be my fate…” he panted. “But…for Micaiah…I must… I…must live…”

Soren thought he was being a bit dramatic. Despite his best efforts, that strike hadn’t been fatal. If a healer saw Pelleas soon, he would be fine. But apparently King Daein had never been stabbed in the back before, and he seemed ready to pass out on the spot.

“Pelleas!” roared Kurthnaga’s dragon voice. “No!”

Soren might have feared the dragon was about to come to Pelleas’s rescue, but that fear would have required him to do something about it like run away—and Soren was currently incapable of running. He had used far too much energy, and his strength was at its end. To make matters worse, Pelleas’s dark magic had sunk into him, killing his muscles and all but completely paralyzing him. His limbs here numb, he was quivering sporadically, and the pain was mounting by the second. His breath came only in tiny, panicked bursts. Although Pelleas was the one crawling away, moaning about dying, it was Soren who had lost this battle, because he couldn’t even crawl.

Soldiers came to Pelleas’s side, heaving him up and helping him limp away despite the damage to his ankles. In the distance, Kurthnaga finally reverted his form, swayed, and collapsed sideways. This was odd, because no one was currently attacking him and he looked completely uninjured. Soren spotted Ena’s pink hair as the woman darted out of the trees to Kurthnaga’s side. Then she fell to her knees too, draping her arms protectively around him.

The sounds of fighting seemed to grow louder and louder, until Soren could experience nothing else but the sound and the pain. He wondered if he was about to die. But then, suddenly, there was something else. There was whiteness and softness. A flash of light burst through his mind, and he realized it was his vision clearing. The whiteness took the shape of Rhys, and he realized the softness was the cloak he’d draped over him.

“Hang in there!” Rhys begged. “Where does it hurt most?”

Soren didn’t have an answer because it hurt everywhere, and even if he did have one, he didn’t have control of himself enough to speak.

Rhys bent his staff over Soren’s heart and uttered the ancient command: “*Mend*.”

A soothing warmth blossomed in his chest, spreading to his extremities. But when the green light faded, he could still hardly move. Raising one hand, Soren saw that his skin was mottled with gray-black flesh. Between the islands of death, which looked like scales, ran rivers of soft pink skin. Realizing that, a moment ago, he’d been completely covered with dead, frostbitten flesh, he silently thanked Rhys for noticing him and not just assuming he was already dead.

“Just a little more,” Rhys promised, calling on the staff again. The green light swelled, and Soren threw himself into the blissful easing of pain. Closing his eyes, he let his arm fall.

Two more times, Rhys used his staff to heal the damage of Pelleas’s attack. He also sealed up the bloody wounds on Soren’s back, arm, and face. Meanwhile, the battle was raging around them. Even with Pelleas gone, his soldiers continued to fight.

Rhys’s brow was drenched in sweat, and his hands were trembling. He looked even paler than usual, and a little green around the corners of his mouth. “That’s- That’s all I can do,” he finally said. “I think I- I need to rest a moment.” With that, he slumped to the side.

Soren caught him—surprised he still had the strength to do so. Looking at his hands and arms, he still saw shreds of the dead flesh, and he could feel them too, like stabbing needles. But he was alive, and he could move again.

“Stay awake,” he urged, helping Rhys to stand at the same time he did. The world spun in circles around them, and Soren limped away with Rhys practically draped over his back until he reached the trees and leaned him against one.

Soldiers were swarming everywhere, and Soren and Rhys must have looked like easy targets. Although he thought he’d used the last of his power to fight Pelleas, Soren chanted the words to a Wind spell, and he was relieved when it blew a charging halberdier off his feet.

Soren was shaking now, and his head was pounding. But it was better than dying, so he continued to fight. Rhys conjured an Ellight spell to help him, proving that he too wanted to live. Soren wished Ike were here, imagining that if he was, then somehow, this situation would be a little less hopeless.

The battle was overwhelming, but Soren no longer felt disconnected from his body like he had earlier. He was here, and he was not alone. Rhys was at his back, and the rest of the mercenaries were still fighting nearby. Soren could see them, and although they were all bloodied and tired, they were still alive. They were still moving. They were still calling to one another.

Then, suddenly, everything changed. The chaos around him lifted, and he could see everything clearly. Everyone was fighting as if in slow motion, and all of the negative energy disappeared from their voices, bodies, and expressions. Around him, Gallian and Daein soldiers fought, killed, and died with smiles on their faces, whether feline or human.

Soren felt it too, and before he knew it, he was laughing. He had never laughed this loudly, this long, or this uncontrollably before. But this entire battle suddenly seemed hilarious. _Why am I here? Why would anyone do this?_ These answerless questions were a priceless riddle.

A weight had lifted from his shoulders, and in doing so, it had uncapped every smile or laugh Soren had ever suppressed. His mouth and chest hurt as if stretched, but pain didn’t matter anymore. Everything felt good. Everything was terrible, and that was why it was funny.

His laughter prevented him from uttering spells, but Soren didn’t mind. No one was attacking him right now. Some were laughing too—or screaming, or crying, or covering their ears. Others were turning on their allies, stabbing, punching, or tackling whatever body was closest. Still others had begun attacking corpses; they repeatedly sliced flesh that was already dead, like frantic butchers. Soren thought this was funny too. He laughed until he couldn’t breathe.

Then every sound disappeared, including his voice. His ears popped. On instinct, he looked up. A blinding beam of light fell from high, high in the sky, as if being sent from the sun itself. It split the cloud cover, sending it away in ripples and revealing a perfect halo of blue.

The beam hit the ground nearby, somewhere on the battlefield, and in a heartbeat, it ballooned outward. Now Soren couldn’t see anything at all, in addition to not hearing anything. Closing his eyes did nothing block the light. This wasn’t funny anymore; nothing was funny. Soren focused on breathing, and he had no idea how much time passed.

When the light faded, the world came back. Something gray was in front of him, and Soren’s fractured vision struggled to understand what he was seeing. It looked like the point of a spear, and it was only a foot from his face. The spear was connected to the hands and arms of a man, but he wasn’t moving. In fact, he wasn’t a man at all. He was a statue of gray stone in the exact size and shape of a man—a Daein soldier, judging by the deftly carved armor.

Soren stepped past the spear and looked around. There were statues everywhere, and the armies were gone. Stretching his senses, Soren felt only a handful of living people—beorc and laguz—around him. _Everyone else is gone…_ Soren thought, _No, transformed into statues_. Reaching out, he touched the shoulder of the stone spearman. Nothing happened. It just felt cold and hard.

Soren’s sense of hearing had returned, but there wasn’t much to hear. Only the distant whinny of horses and sound of hoofbeats echoing off the stone figures. He turned his head to Rhys, who was struggling to his feet. At least he was still flesh and blood.

“What happened?” Rhys whispered.

Soren didn’t have an answer. He took a few unsteady steps, counting the heads of the other mercenaries who hadn’t been petrified. They were staggering around just as dumbstruck as him, touching the statues and whispering to each other.

Then, Soren thought of Ike, and fear gripped him again. Had Ike been turned to stone? He immediately started searching the gray faces, stumbling here and there, before he remembered that Ike hadn’t been on the battlefield when the light struck. He’d taken Mist back to the ruins. Soren started running.

He refused to slow down when inexplicable tears squeezed from his eyes. He realized what must have caused this: Lehran’s Medallion, the Dark God. Tellius had run out of time to make peace; they had failed. _This is the end of the world,_ he thought, but even that wasn’t enough to stop him from running. God or no god, Soren needed to know Ike was safe. Everyone else could die a stony death, but not him. He had to live.


	18. CHAPTER 84: AWAKENING

“Hey! Anyone! Can you hear me? Somebody, please! Answer me! Is anyone here?” Ike’s voice echoed off the statues, and Soren realized he must be running among them, looking for survivors. He ran even faster, intent on meeting Ike halfway.

His eyes stung with tears of relief, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw Ike’s face. He tried to call out in reply, but his throat felt constricted, choking the reply he wanted to give.

“I-Ike!” he finally managed to call.

“Soren?” The voice grew louder, and finally he saw Ike swerving among the statues.

When they finally met, Soren threw his arms around his waist, and Ike bent to hug his shoulders. He was clearly relieved too, and Soren didn’t care if he seemed sensitive or vulnerable. He was just glad Ike was still warm and breathing, and an embrace confirmed what he was seeing with his own eyes.

When they separated, Ike eyed him from head to toe. “You look awful,” he finally said, “What happened?”

Soren just shook his head and tried to control his voice and tear ducts so he could speak clearly. “At least I’m not a statue,” was all he could say.

“What about everyone else?” Ike took a step away and peered into the falling now. The flakes were bigger now, and some were starting to collect on the statues’ heads, backs, shoulders, and snouts. 

“Alive,” Soren answered, hoping it wasn’t a lie. “The ones I could see, anyway…”

Ike started walking, and Soren walked with him even though his legs felt like lead. Before long, they encountered a group of survivors, and the mercenaries broke into a run when they saw Ike.

In addition to the Greil Mercenaries, it appeared Sigrun and Tanith were the only survivors from the Holy Guard and Lucia, Kieran, Astrid, Makalov, Marcia, Danved, and Calill the only survivors of the Crimean Royal Knights.

Tauroneo and Zihark were here too, walking beside their enemies as if friends again. Brom had his arm around the orange-armored knight who must have been his daughter, Meg. Now that her helmet was off, Soren could see the family resemblance.

He also spotted Pelleas far in the back, walking arm-in-arm with a woman shrouded in a black veil. Ena and Kurthnaga were walking beside them, and in front of the dragons walked a bare-chested laguz with a wolf’s tail, who must have been Volug in his human form. He was accompanied by the Daein soldiers Soren had determined to be members of Micaiah’s entourage: a blond-haired archer, a brown-haired swordsman, a bearded axman, a woman leading her horse by the reins, and the black-haired girl Ilyana had once called Laura. Apparently they’d all survived the battle after all.

While the mercenaries hugged and shoved their commander in relief, the Daeins held back timidly. A small unit of laguz joined them from the north. Skrimir was in the lead, with Ranulf at his side. Behind them were Kyza, Lyre, Lethe, and Mordecai.

“What happened?” asked Skrimir, obviously shaken. “What was that light? What happened to my soldiers?” Everyone was asking the same questions.

“The medallion…” Ike tried to explain, “Micaiah did something. I think- I think she sang the galdr of release.” Before he could answer the barrage of questions that inevitably followed such a statement, Sanaki, Elincia, Mist, and the rest of the people who’d been in the ruins finally appeared behind him.

To Soren’s surprise, King Naesala of Kilvas was among them, although he’d certainly not been there before today’s battle. Micaiah, Sothe, Nailah, and Rafiel had also joined the group, which solved the mystery of where they’d gone after leaving the battlefield.

Tibarn was here too, helping hold Reyson on his feet, while Janaff and Ulki flew overhead. But a moment later, they landed on either side of their king. Leanne was leaning on Naesala’s arm, and they walked apart from the rest of the bird laguz. Another, older raven hobbled near Naesala with a cane in hand.

“As far as I can see and Ulki can hear,” Janaff reported, “it seems we’re the only ones left.” His voice was slightly stilted, as if he didn’t quite know what he was saying.

Soren glanced around again and counted only sixty or so survivors, including the meek-looking merchants who’d followed Sanaki and the others out of the ruins. Their eyes were wide as they looked around at the frozen battlefield. Soren didn’t understand why only the people here had been spared, but apparently Tibarn had an explanation:

“Strange,” he said, “I guess only the strongest of us didn’t wind up as statues.” But Soren wasn’t sure that explanation fit. After all, Reyson was leaning against his side, barely able to stand on his own two feet. Could he really be considered one of the strongest?

“Seems like anyone who was in the building with us was safe too,” Ike said, glancing meaningfully at the frightened merchants. “But everyone else was petrified…”

Suddenly Micaiah pushed her way to the middle of the group and slowly rotated while running her eyes over everyone. Despite the circumstances, she was actually smiling. “Wow!” she said, “There are quite a few more of you flesh creatures left than I imagined. That’s good. Maybe that means we’ll stand a chance against her.”

Sothe was right behind her, trying to grab her hand, cup her face, feel her forehead, and generally get her to stop moving. But she merely swatted his hands away and kept walking around, assessing the survivors. “Micaiah? Are you feeling alright?” he asked worriedly.

Micaiah finally looked at him, and her mouth turned into a pout. “I’m not Micaiah!” she said. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”

Ike stepped forward, raising his palms as if to appease the mentally deranged woman. “If you’re not Micaiah, then who are you?”

“I’m Yune,” she replied brightly, holding out a hand (which Ike didn’t take). “Pleased to meet you!”

“Yune?” Sothe repeated in abject confusion. “What did you do to Micaiah!”

“Micaiah is here with me now,” she replied, smiling gently and placing both of her hands on Sothe’s shoulders. “She knows that you’ll never save the petrified ones without me, so she let me use her body to talk to you.”

Soren wasn’t sure whether Micaiah had lost her mind, was playing some sort of trick, or was truly not herself. But he did notice that her eyes looked strange. The irises were red, which was not unusual (Soren himself had red eyes), but they also seemed to be glowing slightly, which couldn’t be normal.

“Alright,” Tibarn said, gingerly pushing Reyson onto Ulki and stepping forward. “Let me ask you this, Yune. If you don’t have a body of your own, what the hell are you?”

Micaiah closed her eyes for a moment, but when she opened them, she turned to face Tibarn. “…I’ve been asleep inside the medallion for a long, long time. Longer than any of you can imagine. But the galdr woke me up.”

Her admission sent a shiver ricocheting through Soren’s body, and he took an involuntary step backward. Ike, however, stepped forward. “Lehran’s Medallion?” he demanded. “You were the dark god sealed inside?”

“Hmmm.” Micaiah tapped a finger against her chin and glanced upward as if thinking hard. “’Dark god’, ‘dark god’… Nope, I’m pretty sure I’m not one of those!” she decided brightly. “I am neither holy nor base, neither angel nor devil. I am…” She seemed to think hard again. “Freedom. Chaos. Transformation. Future. Mystery. I am Yune.” She raised and dropped her shoulders as if that explanation should be adequate, but everyone was still staring her, baffled.

“I don’t care what you’re called,” Ike shot back, his anger clearly outweighing his confusion. “Was it you who turned everyone to stone?”

“No, that wasn’t me.” Micaiah (or rather, Yune) shook her head. “I haven’t done much of anything. I just woke up, so I don’t have that kind of power yet. That was Ashera’s doing. It was her judgement upon this world.”

“Nonsense!” Sanaki cried. She stomped forward and raised a reprimanding finger at the taller woman (or perhaps, goddess). “Holy Ashera would never harm us! She protects us at all times and guides us toward the right path.”

Yune reached out and lowered Sanaki’s finger, causing the young empress’s fists to bunch at her sides instead. “You’ve got it all wrong, little meatling,” Yune explained softly. “Ashera is neither kind nor loving to the beings of this world. Neither is she holy nor base, angel nor devil. She is…” Yune cocked her head to the side. “Restriction. Order. Stability. Past. Certainty. Restraint. She is Ashera.”

“I don’t understand…” Ike growled, rubbing his temples. Soren wished he wouldn’t stand so close to whatever was in Micaiah’s body. Dark god or goddess of freedom, she was still the force of chaos that had imbued the medallion and caused Greil to lose his mind. Soren might’ve been afraid touching her would have the same effect as touching the medallion if Sothe hadn’t already done it. He looked fine, but Soren still wasn’t comfortable with Ike getting too close; there was no telling what Yune could do. “Why would the goddess Ashera try to destroy us?” Ike continued, “If anyone’s going to kill us all, shouldn’t it be you, the dark god who was sealed inside the medallion?”

Yune threw her hands to her hips and glared at him. “You called me a dark god again! How would you like it if I called you a dark bag of organs?” She twisted away from him in a huff. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore!”

Ike was nearly dumbstruck. “…What?”

“Instead… I’ll talk to…” Yune milled around until she spotted Mist and her face lit up. “You!” She skipped over and grabbed her arm. “You’re the one I’ll talk to!”

Mist blushed. “Me?”

Yune gave one big, certain nod. “Ashera has always hated me, but I like her. You’ve got some of her in you. So, I’ll talk to you.” She moved her hands so she was cupping Mist’s in her own and swinging them back and forth like a couple little girls.

Mist let her do what she wanted. “Oh, okay… So…you’re Yune?”

“That’s right. I’m Yune,” she replied in Micaiah’s voice. “Ashera is order. I am chaos. We’re sisters, but opposite in all things. We’re linked to one another, though.” She added, a little sadly. “When I sleep, Ashera sleeps. When I wake, Ashera wakes.”

“Oh, then you’re…a-a goddess?” Stepping back as far as their clasped hands would allow, Mist tried to kneel. “Please forgive my insolence! I’ve been talking down to you like you’re a little kid.”

Yune laughed, pulling her up and swinging her around. “No, no, it’s fine!” she giggled, and it really did seem like the spirit of a little girl had overtaken Micaiah’s body. “Talk to me however you like. You don’t have to stand on ceremony with me.”

“Well…alright, if you insist…” Mist offered a timid smile. “So, you were sealed inside the medallion, but now you’re inside Micaiah?”

“That’s right,” Yune agreed.

“…And the goddess Ashera was the one who turned all the beorc and laguz into stone.” Looking past Yune, Mist ran her eyes over the stone people interspersed with the living. “Oh!” she exclaimed, as if suddenly having an idea. “Are you here to tell us how to save them? Wait, I get it! You were the one who spoke to me! You said, ‘Wake me with the galdr of release, not with the spirit of war.’”

“Yes, I did!” Yune affirmed proudly. “I’m so glad you understood. You’re so very clever! Of course, I was hoping, by sending you that message, I would stop all of this from happening.” Finally releasing her hands, she gestured at the nearest stone figure.

“What do you mean?” Mist asked.

“We’re running out of time, so I’ll explain quickly.” Yune glanced at the ground and brought her hands together as if in thought. When she was ready, she lifted her head and launched into her explanation: “Long, long ago, your ancestors made a promise to Ashera. They promised they would start no wars among all the nations for at least one thousand years. If this promise was broken, then Ashera would destroy the world and try again with a new one.” She turned her head as she spoke, addressing all of the survivors, and perhaps especially the kings and queens closest to her. “Despite the promise, you bone-cages kept fighting each other. Eventually war and conflict spread throughout the world. When Ashera woke up, she cast down her judgement upon those who failed to keep that promise.”

Silence followed her words, and the laguz and beorc rulers looked thoroughly chastised. Ike was the first one to break the silence. “I still don’t understand,” he said, “Why would it make a difference whether you were woken up by the galdr or by the spirit of chaos? How were you planning to stop Ashera from passing down her judgement?”

Although his question was asked in earnest, Yune just glared at him and then turned away. “I’m not talking to you!” she reminded pertly.

“Oh, by all that’s-” Ike threw his hands into the air. “Would you stop acting like a child?”

Mist shot Ike a sharp, warning look, and then stepped forward. “Please forgive my brother, Yune,” she said gently, reaching out to touch Micaiah’s back. “We want to save the people who were turned to stone. We need you to tell us how. It did matter that we woke you with the galdr of release, right?”

Yune dropped her arms and turned back to Mist, apparently placated. “First of all, you should understand that because of our link, waking me is the same as waking Ashera,” she began. “Now, if Ashera had been awakened by the spirit of chaos, none of us would be standing here right now. By the terms of the promise, she was just supposed to destroy the world. No hesitation, no discussion. But if she was awakened by the galdr of release, she was supposed to consult with me first. She wasn’t supposed to pass down her judgment until she heard from me.” Yune grew suddenly upset again and ground her heel into the dirt. “But Ashera went ahead and turned everyone into stone without asking me! That’s so unfair! I’ll show her, though. I’ll turn them all back somehow!” Once again, silence followed her words. Everyone was waiting to hear what she would say next. “The problem is,” she finally admitted, dropping her shoulders, “I can’t do this by myself. I need you. Will you help me?”

“Of course we’ll help!” Mist promised immediately. “It’s strange, but I trust you, Yune.” She then turned to Ike. “And we all want to save the people who got turned to stone, right?”

“Yes,” Ike gave in, letting his anger finally fade. “We’ll do whatever it takes.”

“That’s right!” Skrimir stepped forward. “We will allow nothing to stand in our way! We will fight!”

Soren wondered if Skrimir still didn’t understand that fighting was what had landed them in this predicament to begin with, but he didn’t point this out. He was still overwhelmed by this entire conversation, and his tired mind was struggling to keep up.

“It’s all so confusing…” Elincia said with a shake of her head. “But we must do everything in our power to save the people.”

Sanaki was the next to agree, although she was clearly reluctant to do so. “…To be honest, I’ve spent my life teaching that the Goddess Ashera watches over and protects us. This is all a little hard to accept.”

“You don’t _have_ to believe me,” Yune returned, rolling her eyes and adding airily: “You could just let her destroy the world…”

“No, I will do whatever it takes to save the people who were turned to stone,” Sanaki rushed to say. “I will join the others in helping you.”

Sothe placed himself in front of Yune again, where he stared deep into her eyes as if searching for something (or someone). “So what you’re saying is that we all have to play nice and work together? Just forget about all that’s happened?”

Yune frowned at him, but it was Ike who answered. He clapped a hand on Sothe’s shoulder from behind. “Sothe, open your eyes and look around,” he commanded, “There aren’t that many people left to fix this mess. If you don’t help, we can’t do it.” He dropped his hand and added in a lighter tone: “Besides, I would think saving the world is something we could all actually agree on.”

Sothe hung his head. “You’re right, Commander. All of this is the result of our war… I guess there’s not much reason for flag-waving on either side. First thing we have to do is unpetrify everyone. And well… I, uh…” He looked suddenly embarrassed. “I’m actually kind of relieved. At least I don’t have to worry about fighting you anymore.”

Ike offered Sothe a comforting grin. “I wasn’t looking forward to that matchup, either”

“It’s settled, then!” Yune clapped her hands together. “How should we begin? …I know! Let’s divide the army into three teams! Since I’m pretty sure that Ashera’s going to notice what we’re up to…”

“Dividing us up is smart,” Ike agreed. “It reduces the risk of everyone getting killed at once.” Soren agreed too, although he didn’t yet know where they were going, what they were doing, or who or what was going to try to kill them.

“We’ll have to hurry,” Yune continued, “I can feel Ashera’s power building.”

“It’s all over if we get turned to stone too,” Ike noted. “Alright everyone, it’s up to us!” He made the announcement while raising his fist and moving his gaze over the survivors. In response, they cheered as if they were all his mercenaries.

This seemed to impress Yune, who was no longer looking at Ike like he was the town bully. “What’s your name?” she asked reluctantly.

“I’m Ike.”

“Alright, Ike. You won’t call me a dark god ever again, will you?” She reached out a tentative hand.

“Not if you don’t like it,” Ike promised, taking her hand and shaking it. “Can I call you Yune?” Soren was relieved that nothing happened when their hands touched; Ike still seemed to be in his right mind.

“I would like that.” Yune beamed, her previous distaste for him vanishing. “I guess I forgive you, then. Oh, I know! As a sign of my forgiveness, I’ll make sure that you can get to your destination safely.” She suddenly reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him down to one knee. Ike let her guide him, but Soren stepped forward, wondering if he should put a stop to whatever Yune was about to do. “I can’t do it for everyone because it’s a bit exhausting for me, but…” She adjusted his shoulders until she seemed satisfied, then she took his right hand in her left and held out her own right hand touch his forehead. “Hold still and close your eyes.”

Ike obeyed. “Uh, I’m ready.”

Soren took another step forward and clamped a hand over his mouth to stop himself from crying out. He didn’t know what this crazy goddess was going to do to Ike, but this was the same crazy goddess who’d used Greil’s body to slaughter an entire town. Had Ike forgotten that fact? How could he accept any gift from such a person? But Soren didn’t have the strength to stop her even if he tried, and if Ike was consenting to it, there was nothing he could do.

Ghostly blue flames started swirling around Micaiah’s body while Yune closed her eyes. They stretched up out of her and then fell on Ike, seeping into his skin, where they disappeared. Yune opened her eyes and stepped back, looking tired but satisfied. “How do you feel?”

Ike opened his eyes, and for just a fraction of a second, they were the wrong color blue. But then they returned to their usual state, and Soren wasn’t sure if it’d been his imagination. “…Stronger,” Ike answered, opening and closing his fist. “Like I can take on anyone.”

Soren didn’t think Ike looked any different, but when he stood up, the movement of his joints looked looser and he seemed more refreshed. The shadows of tiredness under his eyes were gone, and his cuts or bruises from the battle had suddenly healed.

“Wow, you’re very confident for a being that can die!” Yune laughed.

Mist and some others laughed awkwardly as if this were a joke, but the uncomfortable chuckling petered out just as quickly as it started.

“Let’s see…” Yune said next, glancing around. She walked over to a fallen lance and picked it up. “This’ll do,” she decided and then shooed everyone out of the way so she could draw three large circles in the dirt. “You will go with this team, Ike,” she declared, drawing a single tally mark in the central circle.

“I’m going with you,” Sothe suddenly spoke up. “I’m not leaving your—Micaiah’s—side.”

Yune closed her eyes a moment. “…Fine,” she finally said, when she opened them. “Micaiah says that’s what she wants too.” She drew two tally marks in the circle on her left.

“Let me talk to her!” Sothe begged.

“Not right now,” Yune returned, gesturing for him to back off. “You’ll have plenty of time to talk on the road, alright?” Then she pointed at Tibarn and said, “You’re with this team over here.” She drew a tally in the final circle without waiting for a reply.

“Damn it,” Sothe muttered and stalked a short distance away, where he crossed his arms and stared at Yune in frustration.

Meanwhile, the goddess continued arbitrarily adding people to the circles. But then she seemed to confuse herself, not remembering which person corresponded with which marks. “Wait, have I placed you yet?” she asked, pointing at Rolf. “All of your skin-sacks look the same to me…”

“Shouldn’t we balance everyone’s strengths so each team is well-rounded?” Ike offered.

Yune bobbed her head. “Balance sounds good,” she agreed. She turned to Lucia suddenly. “What are your characteristics?”

Lucia blushed and offered: “I wield a sword?”

“She’s a good leader,” Ike offered instead.

“She is also excellent at gathering intelligence and organizing missions,” Elincia added proudly.

Yune cocked her head as if to say this meant nothing to her.

“Hey, what about-” Ike suddenly jerked his head side to side as if looking for someone, and he grinned when his eyes met Soren’s. “Uh, Soren, do you want to take over and help Yune make the groups?”

Personally, he’d been hoping this task would end soon so he could finally go rest and possibly get healed a bit more. The remnants of Pelleas’s defensive magic were still searing aches all over his body. But if Ike needed him for this, he would do it. “Very well,” he agreed, limping forward. After standing for the duration of Yune’s introduction, his legs protested even the slightest movement.

Yune flopped her head in the opposite direction when he approached. “What are you?” she asked blatantly, although not unkindly.

Soren ignored her question. “I’m a tactician, and right now you have all of our ranged units in a single team. That’s a stupid idea.”

Yune frowned. “You’re mean.”

Soren was too tired to argue. He was even too tired to think about the fact that he was helping a dark god. He just wanted to finish this task so he could sleep. He started from scratch, assigning each team a name based on its leader: Micaiah would lead the Silver Army, Ike the Greil Army, and Tibarn the Hawk Army. To each team, he assigned a member of the merchant caravan to help drive the wagons and manage supplies. He also assigned each team one of the herons so they could all benefit from their strengthening galdr.

In the end, Soren assigned himself to Ike’s team (naturally), along with the rest of the original Greil Mercenaries since they were already a well-rounded group that knew how to work together. As additional members, he assigned Ena, Kurthnaga, Nailah, Rafiel, Volug, Jill, Haar, and Heather. Counting Aimee (whom Soren had taken for their merchant escort) that only brought their group to twenty members. The other two supposed ‘armies’ were about the same size, but Soren didn’t have much to work with so these would have to suffice.

While they worked together, Yune finally revealed what she actually had in mind for the three teams. “You’ll take three different routes to the Tower of Guidance,” she said, as if that should have been obvious. “That’s where Ashera is!”

“And, uh, what are we supposed to do when we get there?” Ike asked as if not following.

“Fight her of course!” Yune replied brightly.

Soren could hardly believe it was that simple. Then again, fighting a goddess was probably not going to be ‘simple’ at all. “I’ll start planning routes,” he said, staggering when blinking to long caused his balance to sway.

“You’ve done enough.” Ike frowned. “And you look dead on your feet. I’ll plan the routes.” Raising a hand, he lifted one finger. “Our team’ll go around the Grann Desert to the west.” He lifted another finger. “Micaiah, Skrimir, and Sanaki can go straight through the Grann.” He lifted a third and final finger. “Tibarn and Elincia can go around to the east. Sound good?”

Soren just shrugged, because it was a sufficient starting place.

“That’s it then!” Ike decided. “In that case, we resupply tonight and start out tomorrow!”

“Yay!” Yune agreed excitedly.

“Good plan…” Soren replied, and now that he didn’t have another objective to face or problem to solve, his mind suddenly dipped away from him. His head throbbed, his bones ached, and he no longer had the energy to remain standing. His vision blinked out like a doused candle, and he found himself falling. But he never felt himself hit the ground—losing consciousness before that happened.


	19. CHAPTER 85: ORDER

When Soren awoke, he was in a bed, covered in a blanket but otherwise stripped naked. A fire crackled nearby, and Soren was grateful for the waves of warmth on this face. His head was pounding, and he still felt like there were shards of ice imbedded all over his body. He tried to get up and assess the damage, but two thin hands pressed him back onto the pillow.

“Shh,” Elincia cooed, and Soren studied her expression, trying to determine if the deep shadow of mourning behind her eyes was indicative of the end of the world or if the battlefield of statues and Micaiah claiming to be a goddess had all been a strange fever dream. “I’m about to heal your injuries,” she said softly, “Just lie back.”

Soren craned his neck to see the rest of the room. This was the infirmary inside the ruins, but only ten or so of the beds were occupied and Elincia seemed to be the only healer present. She already had a staff in hand, so Soren obeyed her instruction and dropped his head. “Where’s Yune?” he asked, deciding that Elincia’s answer would reveal whether or not it had been a dream.

“She and Micaiah are resting,” Elincia answered. “She has not said anything more.”

“What time is it?”

“Not yet sundown,” she replied. “Ike only dropped you off a couple minutes ago. He said you fell unconscious after working with Yune. What are those injuries?”

Soren lifted the blanket to see that his torso and arms were still mottled with black splotches and streaks. No wonder he was still in pain. “Pelleas’s dark magic,” he said simply, dropping his head again.

Elincia nodded. “Not to worry, I’ll have you right as rain in a moment.” She adjusted her grip on the staff. “*Heal.*”

Soren hadn’t been healed by Elincia before, and he braced for the increased pain. But none came. Only a strange prickling warmth danced over his skin, sending shivers to his arms and legs but soon banishing those too. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised; she was a talented stave magic user, and she’d healed laguz on the battlefield before. Surely a Branded wasn’t much of a challenge.

After two more incantations, the task was finally done. Elincia sat back in her chair and sighed. Soren pulled himself into a sitting position, and she handed him a cup of water from the bedside. “How do you feel?” she asked.

“Still terrible, but better,” Soren answered honestly, “…Thank you.”

A faint smile flickered across Elincia’s face only to disappear again. “You were not the only one ignoring their wounds to listen to Yune speak.” She turned her gaze over the other people in the infirmary. “It must have been a hard battle. I am sorry I wasn’t there.”

Soren didn’t care to alleviate her survivor’s guilt, so he changed the subject, “What is everyone else doing?”

“Pooling supplies from the Apostle’s Army and the Daein Army,” Elincia answered promptly, “and outfitting the wagons. There is also the matter of rescuing some horses whose riders turned to stone on their backs. It would appear animals were unaffected by the blast.”

“Ashera’s judgement…” Soren thought aloud. He was still coming to terms with the fact that an omnipotent being he’d hardly believed existed only a few hours ago had actually struck the entire continent with a magical attack, turning every person to stone in an instant. Even more unbelievable was that the survivors were actually intending to march out and fight her.

“It’s all a bit hard to believe, isn’t it?” Elincia said quietly as if reading his mind.

“I should help with the preparations.”

“No, you should rest,” she replied firmly. “I will have food and clothes brought to you in a couple hours. Just sleep now.” Standing, she added: “Those were Ike’s orders.”

Since arguing with Elincia seemed like a waste of precious energy, Soren gave in and closed his eyes. “Fine then…” he mumbled, and sleep seized him.

After dressing, eating, fixing his tome, and packing his bag, Soren went to his own room for a few more hours’ sleep before dawn. When the day began, he voyaged outside to look at the statues. Yesterday’s snow had already melted, and the stone people hadn’t moved at all. But the corpses of those who’d died before Ashera’s judgment had been removed from the field. Turning his eyes to the east, he could see smoke rising from the pyres outside Castle Nox.

Although he hadn’t seen Ike yet, Mist had said he’d been full of energy after receiving Yune’s blessing and kept himself busy throughout the night—clearing the battlefield, cutting wood, moving supplies, rounding up horses, and overseeing all of the preparations. However, he’d inevitably crashed at the end of it and was now sleeping.

Soren tried to stop thinking about Ike and instead turned his attention back to the battlefield. With fresher eyes, he noticed the shattered or crumbling statues among the solid ones. Hawks had been turned to stone midair and crashed to the ground, smashing other statues wherever they’d landed. The same was true for pegasus and wyvern riders who’d fallen from their steeds. Seeing one dead pegasus with the stone legs of its rider still wrapped around its saddle, Soren found himself wondering what the mortal toll of Ashera’s judgement would be, even if they did manage to turn the stone people back to flesh and blood.

He considered the stone sailors inevitably lost at sea, the stone carpenters who must have fallen from ladders, the stone swimmers who must have sunk to the bottom of lakes, the stone dancers who’d been balancing on one foot only to fall and crack. Had the populations of Phoenicis and Kilvas been obliterated? And if so, why did Soren suddenly care?

He didn’t see how life could ever return to normal after this. Defeating Ashera felt useless, because somewhere a stone child was lying in pieces on the floor like a broken toy. But again, why did Soren care? Why did the dismembered stone hawk at his feet cause his heart to ache? Perhaps he just didn’t have the constitution to bravely face the end of the world like Ike and the others. Or perhaps he was just very, very tired.

“Each team will take a different route,” Yune announced an hour later, when the three groups were assembled and ready to move out, “but your destination is the same! It’s the Tower of Guidance that stands in the middle of the city you named Sienne. Go there at once!” She grinned widely. “I hope to see you all there. I’ll be waiting.”

“Waiting? Aren’t you coming with us?” Ike asked in confusion.

Yune shook her head. “I’ll see you at the tower.” A moment later, the blue flames reappeared around her, and this time they were funneled into the small, orange bird that sat on Micaiah’s shoulder. The bird twittered happily and flew away.

“A bird?” Ike asked in disbelief.

“Yune!” Sothe called. “Then she must be—” he caught Micaiah’s body, which slumped suddenly “—Micaiah!”

Her eyes fluttered open, and her irises were now a pale amber (and no longer glowing). “…Oh, hello, Sothe,” she said as if in a daze. Now that the goddess was gone, Soren felt like he was seeing (and sensing) Micaiah clearly for the first time. And to his astonishment, his senses were telling him she was Branded.

“You’re back! I was so worried.” Sothe hugged her tightly and pressed his lips into the side of her cheek just beside her ear. Soren stared, wondering if he had any idea what she was, and if so, how he could still love her anyway.

“Hey, if that bird was Yune…” Ike squinted at where it had disappeared. “Where did she go?”

“I don’t know where, exactly,” Micaiah answered unsteadily, “but she said she must go look for…something.”

“Leaving us by ourselves?” Ike shook his head. “What’s she thinking?”

“At least we know what we have to do,” Tibarn pointed out optimistically, stepping to the front and turning to face the three teams. “Let’s move out for the tower!”

“May I have a moment before we leave?” Ena asked, approaching the three team leaders. “Prince Kurth has requested that I pass these out to the herons.” On her arm were strung three necklaces with large crystal pendants.

“Those are sending stones, right?” Ike asked, and Soren wondered how she’d come to possess a third in addition to hers and Kurthnaga’s.

“Correct. Fortunately for us, each heron has been assigned to a different team. King Tibarn, would you give this one to Prince Reyson?” She held out the first to the Hawk King, who accepted it with a surprised smile.

“That’s ideal!” he agreed. “We can each communicate with the other teams using the stones. Good idea.”

“Queen Nailah, please give this one to Prince Rafiel,” Ena said next.

“I will.”

“And the last one is for Princess Leanne.” She held it out to Micaiah, who was still leaning against Sothe, and when she raised her hand, it was shaking slightly.

Seeing this, Sothe’s hand shot out to grab it instead. “She’s on my team. I’ll give it to her.”

“Alright, now we’re ready to go!” Tibarn announced with finality. “See you at the tower!”

“Yeah, see you at the tower… Hopefully,” Ike added with a sad smile.

“Sheesh, what a downer,” Tibarn returned, walking away with his hands behind his head. Elincia followed him, leading her pegasus with one hand and waving with the other. They were heading straight east for now; they would cross into Begnion at Tor Garen.

“I’m sorry we didn’t get to know each other better,” Ike said, offering his hand to Micaiah as if meeting her for the first time (which, Soren supposed, he was). “But I appreciate what you and Yune are trying to do. Take care of yourself.”

She accepted his hand despite her weakness, and Soren wondered what toll she paid to host a goddess in her body. “We must all do what we can,” she replied simply.

With that, Ike turned around and led his team straight south. They were heading to Tor Holvar. Looking over his shoulder, Soren saw Sothe lift Micaiah onto a wagon bench, and once again, he wondered at the fact that a beorc like Sothe could act so dotingly toward a Branded like Micaiah. In the end, he had to assume Sothe had no clue; perhaps Micaiah was just leading him on or using him for some purpose. A minute later, their group started moving too, and Soren stopped watching them.

He tried to distract himself and ended up thinking about the three armies’ routes again. The Silver Army would be heading southeast, between the other two armies, and crossing the Great Wall of Ivelt at yet another juncture. Soren estimated the march to Sienne would take each team about a month or so, and now he found himself wondering if they would all manage to arrive in the Begnion capital or if they would become statues somewhere on the long road.

The world was quiet, and wherever they went, no matter the hour, the Greil Army passed stone people frozen in their midday work. They rescued animals on occasion, whenever they heard barking dogs chained up outside or frantically clucking chickens locked inside a henhouse. They opened gates and barns to allow horses and livestock to fend for themselves, but with winter coming, Soren knew many would starve.

In a foolish attempt to avoid this, the rescuers tossed hay down from the tops of barns and propped open grain stores. Soren knew the precious feed would just rot if exposed to the elements like this, and the animals would still die. However, he didn’t share this prediction with the rest of the team, since it wouldn’t do any good now.

Once they climbed into the mountains and passed through the wall, they encountered fewer villages and could momentarily forget the fate of the world. Soren could almost imagine the stone guards keeping watch over Tor Holvar were merely statues after all—an illusion meant to dissuade attackers. But when they descended again, the mountain villages on the Begnion-side reminded them that Ashera’s judgment had been all-encompassing.

It was around this time that they started voyaging into people’s cellars, stealing bits of preserved foodstuffs and salted meat that they justified by saying the stone people weren’t going to miss it. They even slaughtered hungry chickens and pigs they knew wouldn’t survive the next month. Although they still had plenty of hardtack and traveling rations, these treats helped make their slow progress through the silent world more tolerable. Even Soren appreciated the uptick in excitement and happier voices he heard when someone stole and shared something particularly tasty. Otherwise they trod glumly, and each day was marked with long periods of silence.

Ena and Kurthnaga were particularly quiet and kept to themselves. As Soren had learned in Goldoa, dragons didn’t cook their food, instead eating fruits, vegetables, eggs, meat, and fish almost completely raw, and they never dabbling in the baking of breads. The pair were adapting their diet to what was available, just as Nasir had once done, but the traveling biscuits seemed to only make the Dragon Prince sicker.

Ena explained that he was having a hard time recovering from the force of chaos he’d experienced on the battlefield, despite the fact that the force of order now lay on the world like a heavy blanket. The two-hundred-year-old boy was apparently quite sensitive to the struggles between Yune and Ashera’s power, and so his mind was at war with itself. He rarely spoke to the others, growing sallow and slow-moving.

Despite her own condition, Ena devoted herself to taking care of him, coaxing him to eat, dress, wash, march, and pack and unpack each day. In return, Mist took it upon herself to ensure that Ena was eating enough for herself and her unborn child, that she took breaks by riding in the wagon, and that she rested her feet and her back each evening. Ena was remarkably hardy, and although she surrendered to Mist’s ministrations, it seemed her main concern was her catatonic liege lord. Soren wondered if either of them would be able to fight when they reached Sienne.

Only five days after entering Begnion, Rafiel shared disturbing news from Leanne. Apparently the Silver Army had been attacked this afternoon when crossing the mountains into Seliora. They’d been resting within the wall fort when a small army had suddenly appeared in the valley below. This new enemy called itself the ‘Disciples of Order’.

“Ashera has freed them from stone to fight for her,” Rafiel explained, “and she’s blessed their weapons and armor. They’ll only get stronger as we approach the tower, and Leanne warns that they can appear without warning.”

“What does that mean?” Ike asked, clearly confused.

“Perhaps it is part of Ashera’s magic?” offered Nailah.

“Who were these people?” asked Titania, “Begnion soldiers?”

“Yes, Leanne reports that they were once soldiers in the senators’ army,” Rafiel continued, “But Ashera unpetrified them and bestowed them with enchanted golden armor and weapons of the strongest steel. In return, they appear to serve her zealously.”

“They must believe they were chosen for divine purpose,” Soren observed, then adding pointedly: “Just like us. They will serve Ashera just as fervently as we obey Yune. As we march for Sienne, they will seek to ambush us. We must proceed with caution.”

“Come on, Soren,” Titania sighed, “We are not blindly serving Yune like those supposed ‘disciples’ of Ashera. How can you say that?”

Soren was about to argue that they were doing exactly that, but Ike cut him off: “Is everyone alright?” he asked Rafiel urgently. “Twenty against a hundred aren’t good odds, even if they did have the wall to their advantage.”

Rafiel nodded. “Yes, Leanne reported that no lives were lost. Fortunately Prince Skrimir and King Naesala are quite skilled, and they were able to lead a defensive strike under Lady Micaiah’s and General Sigrun’s instruction.”

Ike grinned in relief. “It’s nice to hear that even former enemies can work together when the situation calls for it.”

“Has Naesala yet given an excuse for his treachery during the Laguz-Begnion War?” Soren asked idly. It was something he’d been wondering for a while now.

Ike shook his head. “No, but he promised he’s on our side now, and Sanaki vouched for him. I don’t quite understand how they know each other, but I trust her judgement.”

Soren didn’t have the same level of faith for the young empress who’d been beguiled by her own senators all her life, but he didn’t say so now.

“Leanne vouches for him as well,” Rafiel added, “and she has always had the remarkable ability to see into a person’s true heart.”

Soren wasn’t sure he trusted Rafiel’s judgement either, because he and Nailah had switched sides in the last battle and still not given a good excuse. But he wouldn’t accuse the heron of lying; he was their only connection to the other teams.

“Let’s hope we can work together just as well as the Silver Army,” Ike said, changing the subject. “I expect we’ll be seeing those Disciples of Order soon, and I know from experience that enchanted armor can be tricky.”

“Worse, they can attack at any moment and we’d have no idea where or how many they are,” Soren added. “I’ll start working on contingency plans.”

Ike nodded. “Alright, we’ll break here,” he decided, glanced around. “Everyone, be sure to keep your weapons and armor within reach tonight.”

Soren surveyed the area and decided it wasn’t a terrible place to camp because visibility was descent. This region was open except for a couple well-pruned orchards and a few clusters of young, unruly trees. He pointed to a nearby hill. “There,” he said, “If we can make fortifications around the top and erect our tents inside, we should be able to see any Disciples of Order before they reach us, no matter which direction they come from.”

Titania looked at the sky, which was thick with clouds. “It may snow tonight,” she said, “Are you sure?”

Although Soren agreed with her assessment, they were between villages right now and there were no forts or outposts nearby. “It is the best option in our immediate vicinity, and if we keep marching until dark, we risk being ambushed by the Disciples without any fortifications. At least here we will have a few hours to prepare.”

“Soren’s right,” Ike agreed. “Let’s get to work!”

Titania was also right, however, and while they were in the middle of filling sandbags with dirt, collecting water from the stream, and chopping wood for campfires and palisades, snow started fall heavily around them. There wasn’t enough wind to whip it into a full blizzard, so everyone continued working and ignored the snow that gathered around their feet and on their shoulders. Their breath turned to bursts of steam as the temperature dropped, and the world descended into inky blackness. The sun had set, and the storm clouds blocked the moonlight completely.

Their campsite was illuminated only by flickering firelight now, and Soren arranged watches so everyone would have a turn throughout the long night. Although he recommended those not on shift rest while they had the chance, no one did. They were restless in anticipation of a mysterious new enemy, but Soren supposed this was better than the calm passivity with which they’d been marching since Nox. They seemed more alive now.

Soren found he couldn’t sleep either, so instead, he trudged through the quickly-collecting snow to where Aimee sat dejectedly her wagon’s step. She seemed to miss her little family of merchants, but he hadn’t come to console her. “What do you have in stock for spells?”

“Not much,” she pouted, “It’s not like my contacts in these parts are doing me any good with everyone turned to stone.”

“I’ve seen you taking items from shops and leaving money,” he countered, “every time we pass through a town. Have you found anything useful?”

Aimee sighed. “Oh, I miss haggling!”

“Have you acquired any spell tomes or not?” Soren pushed her.

“Fine, fine.” Climbing into the wagon, she rummaged until she returned with an armful of scrolls and clusters of neatly bound pages.

Soren sorted through the ancient writing until he came across a hefty leaflet of wind spells he’d never seen before. “This is Rexcalibur,” he noted. “How did you get these?”

Aimee smiled, her mood obviously improving. “At a good deal,” she answered aloofly. “Do you want them?”

“That would depend on the cost.”

She tapped her chin. “With that Silver Card you’re holding onto, I’d say, oh, maybe twenty thousand gold.”

Soren glared. “I don’t have that much with me.”

Aimee tossed her shoulder. “Come back when you do.”

“You do realize we are facing the veritable end of the world, don’t you?” Soren pointed out. “How can you still be looking to make a profit?”

In reply, she chuckled and waved her hand. “I trust my brave mercenaries will save us, and I have new business ventures to plan when that happens.”

Soren wished he could share her confidence, but instead he just bought a few Elwind spells and others that were more reasonably priced. When he was done fitting these into his tome, he tried to get some rest. True sleep eluded him, but he pretended until Gatrie returned, saying it was his turn to stand watch.

Leaving his tent, Soren started walking around the hill’s perimeter, staring into the snowy dark. Several other mercenaries were still up, including Ike, who was talking to Ena outside her and Kurthnaga’s tent at the center of camp. Soren listened idly while he assessed the empty night. It seemed Ike was seeking an audience with the Dragon Prince and Ena was making excuses for his incapacitation.

That was when glowing lights suddenly filled the darkness; overlapping white circles and purple triangles tessellated across Soren’s vision, and it took him a moment to realize these shapes were appearing on the ground a hundred yards away in a perfect circle around the hill. Just as quickly as they’d come, they vanished, but as soon as they did, he felt the presence of at least a hundred beorc.

Soren didn’t waste any more time staring into the dark. The Disciples of Order clearly weren’t carrying lanterns, but the firelit campsite was a beacon for them to flock to. They would be here in less than a minute. He twisted around, shouting: “Ike, we are under attack! They’ve surrounded us!”

“What?” Ike demanded, “That’s impossible!” 

Soren wasn’t the only one to see the lights, and others were already shouting to one another in confusion. The beorc mercenaries couldn’t see or sense the enemy, but now that he’d declared they were surrounded, that message was being relayed.

“Perhaps a hundred and fifty,” Soren estimated, and he hoped no one would be suspicious of how he’d inexplicably come to that number.

“How could they get this close without us sensing them?” Ena asked in awe.

Nailah and Rafiel were jogging up to them, and hearing Ena’s question, the Wolf Queen replied: “I don’t know. There was no sign or scent of their approach… I wonder if they simply materialized?” Shrugging as if that were as good an explanation as any, she then sank down into her wolf form. Without another word, she bounded off to take her assigned position. She would be in charge of the fortifications’ eastern gap (and guarding Rafiel, who trailed behind her on frail but hurried feet).

Ike drew his sword. “Ena, stay here!” he ordered, “Protect Kurthnaga’s tent at all cost! I assume you can still transform?”

“Understood.” Ena nodded. “And yes, should the need arise.”

“Take care of yourself,” Ike said before dashing away. Soren was right behind him, since they both had positions guarding the southern slope. “Everyone, watch the perimeter!” Ike called out as he ran, “There are a lot of them, but just focus on one enemy at a time!”

That was more or less the plan—to bottleneck the enemy at the four gaps in the wooden palisades and sandbag walls. Titania was guarding the north side of the hill, with Oscar, Shinon, and Rhys. Rhys was also supposed to make himself available to the Nailah’s eastern front, where she was fighting with Volug, Heather, and Rafiel. Soren, Ike, and Mist were stationed in the southern gap. But like Rhys, Mist was also supposed to support the west side, which Boyd was leading with Gatrie, Rolf, and Mia. Haar and Jill had been ordered to fly over the camp, supporting whichever side needed the most help and monitoring the fortifications to make sure no Disciples knocked down a wall and entered that way. Meanwhile, Aimee, Ena, and Kurthnaga were stationed at the center of the camp (entirely useless).

Although Soren had been the one to organize the deployment strategy, he now wondered if he’d left himself, Ike, and Mist too exposed.

“Here,” Ike said, pulled something out of his pocket and pushing it into Soren’s hands. To his bewilderment, they were the Rexcalibur pages.

“How-”

“Aimee gave them to me a little while ago,” Ike explained, raising his sword to face the golden-armored soldiers who were just now appearing in the camp’s sphere of light

Soren tucked the pages into his tome. “For free?” he asked in disbelief.

“You’re not the only one who can use your charms on that woman,” Ike laughed in reply. Just then, a row of advancing pikemen reached him, and he and Mist pivoted and slashed out with their swords in perfect symmetry.

Soren supported them from behind by chanting a few Elwind and Elfire spells, but it appeared these soldiers’ armor was indeed enchanted. Gusts that should have dug deep gouges left only minor scratches, explosions of fire were less impactful, and the soldiers’ clothing and skin seemed less flammable. Soren might have been able to mitigate the enchantment’s effect by aiming directly at places where their armor had little or no coverage, but in the snowy dark and with Ike and Mist fighting in front of him, that was easier said than done.

Reluctant to waste an unknown amount of magic on a new spell he’d never tried before, Soren put off using Rexcalibur for now. Instead he dipped into his third-tier spells: Tornado, Bolganone, and Thoron. Trying one after another, he was relieved to find that these still had a powerful effect on the Disciples, and he was able to take some of the pressure off Ike and Mist.

When Boyd called Mist to his front, she ducked away with an apology, and Soren stepped forward to take her place. As a sage, he was poorly suited to the frontlines like this, but that hadn’t never stopped him before. As long as he moved swiftly, was conscious of his surroundings, and stayed light on his feet, he could avoid any mortal wounds. And being closer to his enemy allowed him to aim his spells more carefully. To conserve energy, Soren now switched back to Elwind, Elfire, and Elthunder spells and merely took care in aiming them at the Disciples’ weak points.

When he and Ike threatened to be overwhelmed and pushed back into the interior of the camp, Jill swooped out of the sky, knocking down a line of swordsmen and chopping off the last one’s head. “ _Ya-hoo!_ ” she cried in delight, and Ike laughed at her antics.

For the first time, Soren realized the positive atmosphere that was bubbling up from the mercenaries; they were more energetic than they had been for days. Apparently, all it took was a good fight with disastrous odds to remind them of who they were and what they were good at. That thought made Soren smile too, and he flipped boldly to the Rexcalibur pages.

“*Glaciate, spirits of wind,*” he sounded out the words, “*and lacerate. Ravage all you encompass.*” As with all new spells, the meaning of the words were imparted to his mind by the (likely long-dead) writer. The ink turned gray and blurry, their magic now depleted, and the elemental spirits that inhabited the air leapt to obey their new command.

Soren felt them tugging against the limits of his power, wanting to go faster than he was willing to allow. He tried to rein them in, but they were pulling his own power out of him now, gobbling it up and demanding more. As their strength increased, so did their hunger. All of this occurred in only a couple seconds, and Soren severed the connection before the spirits could take too much. He released the spell and braced himself for the effect.

In the spur of the moment, Soren hadn’t chosen a specific target, instead sending the winds in the general direction of the twelve or so enemies eagerly awaiting their chance to fight Ike and push their way into the camp. The winds coalesced around them now, concentrating on the few in the middle, but rather than slashing or pushing them, something quite strange happened. The winds were condensing into a sort of crystalline prism that would have been invisible if not for the falling snow and the way it refracted the camp’s torchlight. Within the prism, the soldiers’ movements slowed until the ones at the center appeared completely immobilized. Then, the ice-like sheets exploded from the inside out. Spiraling blades of wind gyrated on a central axis, growing upward and outward.

The soldiers at the center of the prism had no escape, being rent into several pieces in an instant. Those immediately outside of it were cut and their bodies thrown, and those beyond were knocked down as if by a terrible force. Then the ring of wind hit Soren and Ike too, knocking them both onto their backs.

These gusts had not been sharp, and the accumulation of snow was high enough now that Soren avoided having the air knocked out of him, but it was still quite a shock. “Ike!” he called out, scrambling to his feet.

Ike was also getting his legs back under him, apparently uninjured. “What the hell, Soren?” he complained, but he was grinning, “That’s it; I’m taking those spells back!”

“My apologies, Commander,” Soren replied. “Perhaps I was a tad overzealous.”

Ike’s laugh turned into a grunt as he blocked the strike of a golden-armored knight. He was one of the few to have risen after the Rexcalibur attack, which meant Soren and Ike’s momentarily incapacitation hadn’t cost them any ground.

Soren conjured a few Thunder spells to stun (and therefore momentarily fend off) a sword-wielding Disciple who had also survived. Rexcalibur had sapped a lot of his power, so he would have to be careful and conserve what he had left. Fortunately, he was given a break a moment later, when both Jill and Mist returned at the same time.

“What happened over here?” Mist asked in surprise when she saw the dismembered bodies left by the explosion.

Instead of answering her, Soren asked how the western front was faring. He also stepped back to let her fight side-by-side with her brother, where her sword would be most useful.

“They’re holding on,” she replied grimly, while parrying a blow. “But I don’t know how much longer.”

“The Disciples are acting more cautious; they’re not charging all at once,” Ike observed, while easily slashing open a spearman’s chest cavity. (It appeared their enchanted armor was no match for the holy sword Ragnell.) “I think their numbers must be dwindling. We just need to hold out a little longer.”

In answer, Mist started moving her blade faster. She and Ike were quite a team, and sometimes they mirrored each other as they each fought in a variation of Greil’s style. Soren supported them with his elemental magic, and when Ike caught an arrow in his shoulder, he swiftly cast Bolganone to carve a moat of lava. This kept the Disciples at bay while Mist healed her brother.

The archer who’d hit Ike fired again, but missed. Afraid that he wouldn’t miss a second time, Soren maintained his connection to the Bolganone spell, keeping it hot and wide, while also uttering an Elwind spell to take out the archer before he could try again. (Apparently dual casting was something he would have to get used to now that the world was ending.)

Perhaps seeing the glowing lava, Haar and Jill circled around to lend support, and Soren was finally able to release the spell. He chanted Tornado and Elfire to protect the gap while also being careful of his allies’ wings. When Ike was safely healed again, he and Mist retook their positions, and Haar and Jill peeled off to a different front.

Not long later, a pegasus knight flapped into the sphere of firelight. Although she could have flow straight into the camp and disrupted the mercenaries’ defense from within, she did not. Instead she called down to Ike: “I am Catalena, chosen of the one true Goddess Ashera! What name do you claim, cur?”

“I’m Ike,” he called back, “Of the Greil Mercenaries.”

“ _Mercenaries?_ ” she repeated in disgust.

“Yup,” Ike agreed. “The goddess Yune hired us to fight her sister.”

“ _Blasphemy!_ ”

“So are you here to surrender or not?” Ike asked, pointing the tip of his sword at her.

“Pawns of your execrable goddess!” cried Catalena. “You shall die! You are a festering wound in the flesh of the world! Die, and let it heal!”

“I suppose talking it over is out of the question?” Ike sighed. He pulled his blade closer to himself and adjusted his grip in anticipation of her first strike.

Both she and her stead were well armored, and she handled her lance expertly. Ike fended her off but was unable to make a significant counterattack. Leaving the remaining enemy soldiers to Mist, Soren turned his attention to helping Ike. Chanting several Elwind spells back-to-back, he released each one as soon as he completed it, and he made their sole purpose to disrupt the pegasus’s wings. The creature couldn’t follow through with any of its trajectories, and after floundering in the air for a minute, Catalena gave up and landed her steed. Ike met her on even ground, and she did not last long.

“Death?” she asked no one in particular when Ike wrenched her off the saddle with his sword through her gut. “But my work is not yet…complete…”

Although she seemed to be the commander of this group of Disciples, her death didn’t dissuade them from fighting. Even when only a dozen remained, and the mercenaries were easily picking them off, the zealots continued to praise Ashera and shout their willingness to die for her:

“Our bodies may die, but our souls have already ascended!”

“Mother Ashera forgives us our sins!”

“We are as martyrs before the mending of the world!”

Soren was glad when the last one died, and his words died with him.

“That looks like the lot of them,” Ike sighed, walking the perimeter. “Fanatics that appear out of nowhere and attack from darkness…” He stopped and shook his head. “This’ll be tough.” Since everyone had congregated to hear what he had to say, he began giving orders: “Nailah, sniff around and make sure we’re really alone. Titania, see to the dead. Mist, Rhys, the living. Rafiel, sit down before you pass out. Everyone else, see what you can do about fixing the barriers. I don’t expect we’ll receive more visitors tonight, but we’re better safe than sorry.” With that, he walked back into the center of camp.

Since there were plenty of people to check the fortifications, Soren followed Ike and wasn’t surprised when he stopped outside Ena and Kurthnaga’s tent. Ena was standing there, looking shaken. She had blood on her hands and a knife in her grip. Two bodies (both viciously stabbed) lay on the ground at her feet.

“Ena, are you alright?” Ike asked in alarm. “Why didn’t you transform?”

“I didn’t want Prince Kurthnaga to be frightened,” Ena answered, while Ike slipped the knife from her hand and tossed it aside. “So I tried to hold them off in this shape. He hates blood…”

“This can’t go on,” Ike growled. “I’m going to talk to him.” With that, he barged into the tent. “Hey, Prince Kurthnaga!”

The prince must have been awake, because Soren immediately hear him hiss and groan in response: “Stay away!”

“What’s wrong? Don’t you remember me?” came Ike’s reply.

Kurthnaga groaned again. “That smell… The blood…on your sword…”

“What, this? No problem. I’ll drop it over there.” A moment later, Ike chucked Ragnell unceremoniously out of the tent flap. “Hey, look—no sword. Are you okay now?”

Ena suddenly touched Soren’s arm and whispered: “We should give them some privacy.”

He didn’t know if it was recommendation or an order, but either way, he obeyed. They walked until they reached Mist’s tent, where Ena excused herself and ducked inside to wash up. Now that she was gone, Soren considered circling back around to eavesdrop on Ike and Kurthnaga, but he resisted that temptation. Thanks to the dragons’ strong senses, he doubted he would be able to get close enough to hear and still escape notice.

Instead he sought out Aimee, although he wasn’t entirely sure why. “Some soldiers made it into the camp and attacked Prince Kurthnaga’s tent,” he said when he found her, because it was as good an excuse as any. “I assume you’re fine?”

“Oh, I was well hidden,” Aimee replied with a casual wave of her hand. “But I am touched by your concern.”

“I wouldn’t call it concern.”

She smiled slyly in reply.

“I got your gift,” he said to change the subject. He tapped his tome meaningfully. “What made you change your mind?”

“Well, you know—” Aimee shrugged “—it seemed like a good way to get Ike’s attention.”

Soren narrowed his eyes. “You said you would leave him alone.”

She smiled again. “Facing one’s mortality does change things. If these are to be my final days, why not go out with a bang?”

“So much for trusting we’ll prevail.”

Aimee shook her head in mock-censure. “You can’t blame a girl for trying. It’s not like you were ever going to do anything.”

“You’re confused,” Soren shot back, walking away before she could make further accusations. “But thanks again for the spells,” he added before he’d gone too far.

Soren assisted with fortifications—restacking unbroken sandbags—for a short while before seeking Ike again. When he determined he must have finished speaking with Kurthnaga, he following the beacon of his presence and found him in his own tent.

“Did he have an explanation for his involvement with Daein?” Soren asked simply. He had no doubt Ike would share his intelligence, which was why he was confused when he gritted his teeth and hesitated.

“I can’t say,” he finally replied. “I vowed on Father’s grave that I wouldn’t repeat a word of what he told me.”

“Why?” Soren asked incredulously.

“He trusted me with his secret, so I promised not to. It’s as simple as that.”

“Is it an important secret?” Soren asked suspiciously.

“Every secret is important to the secret-holder,” Ike answered with a shake of his head. “You should know that better than anyone.”

“But if it is relevant to our-”

“It’s not relevant,” Ike cut him off quickly. “It’s just a personal matter; it’s not going to help us defeat Ashera.”

Soren was silent for a moment as he analyzed this deflection, looking for a weakness. “Very well,” he finally decided, “So Kurthnaga aided Daein for personal reasons. I will try not to be too curious.”

“Thanks,” Ike said in obvious relief. But then he grew conflicted again. “I really wish I could tell you though…”

Soren’s curiosity was piqued even more, but he didn’t want to force Ike to break a vow. (Such things were important to him.) “You tease,” he said airily. “That’s unfair.”

Ike’s mouth twitched into a small grin.

Soren changed the subject before Ike could say something he would regret. “Dragon princes aside, I wanted to speak to you about Catalena.”

“Catalena?” Ike repeated, perhaps having already forgotten the Disciples’ commander.

“The pegasus knight,” Soren clarified. “I recognized her name. She was one of the few Holy Guards who returned to Begnion with Zelgius. In the days before our siege of Castle Nox, I received reports from her concerning the progress of Zelgius and Sephiran’s rebellion.”

“Then she betrayed the apostle.”

“It is not that simple,” he explained quickly. “She had no reason to know about Yune or what happened back in Daein. Whether she believed Sanaki was a false-apostle or not is irrelevant now. She was turned to stone, and Ashera unfroze her. That is all she knew.”

Ike nodded slowly. “So, these Disciples of Order are from both the senators’ and Sephiran’s armies...”

“I merely wanted to point out this fact, and to raise the possibility that—” Soren hesitated a moment before plunging back in “—we may find Zelgius and Sephiran themselves in the Disciples of Order’s ranks. If so, Zelgius is sure to be a difficult opponent. Of course, there is no guarantee our paths will cross, but-”

“It’s worse than you know,” Ike said somberly, cutting him off.

“What do you mean?”

He cupped his head in his hands. “I should have told you. And Titania. And Mist. I should have told everyone. I’m sorry. I just- I still find it hard to believe myself.”

“What are you blathering on about?” Soren asked, hoping to jog Ike out of his sudden bout of uncharacteristic anxiety.

He took a steadying breath. “Zelgius is the Black Knight. He has been serving both Daein and Begnion this whole time.”

Soren was admittedly shocked by this claim, but he wondered if he should have somehow guessed these two figures were connected. “How do you know?”

“Ranulf told me before we split up. He’s known ever since he fought Zelgius on the Sestohl Plains. He said it was just like when he fought the Black Knight in Toha.”

Soren wished he could discredit Ranulf’s senses and memory. After all, those two fights had been almost eight years apart. But this revelation felt true. Suddenly he found himself recalling what Greil had once said about his former Branded student. The Black Knight had also been his student. Shouldn’t he have realized they were one and the same? And although Soren had never been close enough to the Black Knight to realize the truth, he had been close enough to Zelgius. Perhaps Soren truly had been a fool for not suspecting his identity.

“I guess we were wrong about Zelgius being the perfect soldier,” Ike said after a while. “He must have always been serving two masters for his own gain.”

“What gain would that be?” Soren replied, suddenly fearing what he didn’t understand. “There is still much we do not know… But Zelgius may still have been serving a single master this whole time,” he proposed tentatively. “Someone who wanted Ashnard to have the medallion, who wanted to keep Micaiah alive during the Daein Rebellion, and who wanted to drag out every war along the way.”

“What do you mean?” Ike asked, and there was a slight nervousness to his voice.

“Think about it,” Soren continued. “He brought reinforcements to Nevassa so we could confront Ashnard in Crimea. Then he led reinforcements to Melior even though we didn’t ask for them. He gave up his command as Warden of New Daein to some weak upstart and allowed the citizenry to rebel. In fact, he even donned the armor of the Black Knight and helped them. Then, as Zelgius, he sparred with Skrimir in Gaddos, not so that the bloodshed could end, but so the Laguz-Begnion War could continue without a decisive defeat. He marched through Crimea to Gallia with a whining senator on his sleeve as an excuse. Then he returned to Begnion only to spur a civil war.” Soren’s voice had only become angrier as his words ran away with him. “He did all of this under the guise of nobility, loyalty, and mercy.”

“Then, all this time,” Ike said, seeming to agree with him, “he’s only served one master.”

“Sephiran,” they said at the same time, and their voices lapsed into silence.

Finally Ike spoke again: “Sephiran wanted the force of chaos to wake Yune and Ashera… But why would he want to bring about the end of the world? Who would want that?”

“I don’t know,” was the only answer Soren could offer. “But it is only a theory for now. You may tell Titania, Mist, and the others the identity of Greil’s killer, but I do not recommend we breathe a word of our suspicions. Especially not to Sanaki.”

Ike seemed to consider this a moment, but then he nodded his consent. “Alright.”

“For now, let us merely be wary of meeting Zelgius or Sephiran among the Disciples of Order.”

“They’ll have some explaining to do if our paths cross again,” Ike growled, and Soren appreciated the fire behind his eyes even if he did fear that his friend was sorely outmatched.

“There is one last thing,” Soren added, not knowing if it was relevant but wanting Ike to know the truth. “Zelgius—the Black Knight—he’s Branded.”

“What?”

“It is probably not important,” Soren rushed to say, “but I wanted you to know.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since Gaddos,” Soren answered honestly. “Ranulf may have sensed it about him too… I don’t know.”

“He didn’t mention it,” Ike grumbled.

“No one ever does.” Soren shook of his head.

Ike suddenly roared in frustration, rubbing his hands into his face and whispering hoarsely: “How can everyone pretend the Branded don’t exist if they’re central to everything that’s going on?”

“Wait,” Soren said, suddenly confused. “You know about Micaiah?”

Ike dropped his hands and stared at him. “What! Her too?”

Soren realized he’d spoken out of turn. He hadn’t meant to spill her secret. Then again, keeping other people’s secrets seemed rather pointless when facing the potential extinction of every person in Tellius. “Apparently not…”

Ike shook his head again and groaned. “This is too much; I’m going to bed.”

“I apologize,” Soren said, although he wasn’t sure why he suddenly felt apologetic. Perhaps for taking so much of Ike’s time after a difficult battle. “You should rest.”

“No, I was joking,” Ike said hurried. “It’s fine.”

“But you’re right,” Soren argued, suddenly feeling his own exhaustion. “We do not have much time until dawn, and we have another long day of marching ahead. I will leave you alone.”

“Wait…” Ike reached out his hand but stopped halfway and used it to smother a yawn instead. “You can stay here if you want.”

“What?”

“These tiny tents Daein gave us are fine and all,” Ike explained, seeming suddenly embarrassed, “but I don’t have a double, and I kind of miss being around everyone else. Plus it’s freezing outside, so I just…wanted to offer…”

His pinkening cheeks were making Soren embarrassed now. Ike’s exhaustion and emotional distress about the Black Knight may have caused him to make an offer he regretted, to show a vulnerability he usually hid. But surely Soren’s transgression was worse—because he desperately wanted to accept. He knew he shouldn’t, but Aimee words echoed in his mind: ‘It’s not like you were ever going to do anything,’ she’d goaded him. Well, now Soren was going to do something.

“Very well,” he finally answered. “Your feet do smell far less vile than Gatrie’s, so I do not see why not.”

Ike gave a small, almost pained smile, but at least he didn’t retract his offer and ask Soren to leave. Instead, he laid out an extra blanket beside him. “There’s plenty of room.”

“Yes, I see that,” Soren replied dismissively. “I am sure you were given this tent because of your position of authority. Most people would appreciate the privacy.”

Ike shrugged before leaning back. “No one likes being alone,” he said simply. “…Not when Ashera already hates us and we’re one more goddess-blast from being turned into a bunch of rocks.”

“Yes, I suppose that does give a little perspective,” Soren agreed simply. “Shall I get the light?”

“Yeah,” Ike yawned again.

With that, Soren extinguished the lantern and nestled into the blanket Ike had given him. There was only one bedroll, and Ike shifted to make room. They would each take half, and it was as good enough excuse as any to be close to him. Listening to his quiet breathing, Soren soon fell into a deeper, more restful sleep than he had in a long time.


	20. CHAPTER 86: YUNE'S CHOSEN

That morning, Ike made an announcement to the rest of the Greil Army: “Be advised,” he said, “General Zelgius of Begnion is the true identity of the Black Knight of Daein and the man who killed my father.”

The Greil Mercenaries were aghast and outraged, while Jill, Haar, Ena, and Rafiel looked appropriately sympathetic and Aimee looked downright offended. Kurthnaga, on the other hand, merely looked nauseous (as usual), and neither Nailah nor Volug seemed to particularly care.

“We may encounter Zelgius among the Disciple of Order,” Ike continued, “and if so, I ask that you all proceed with absolute caution. In his red armor, he may be wounded by mortal means. But in his black armor, he is impervious to all attacks save my blade. No matter his raiment, however, he is a dangerous opponent who has left both Skrimir and Ranulf within an inch of their lives. Neither King Tibarn or Lord Nasir of Goldoa have been able to defeat him in battle. Therefore, I beg you not to engage. If you see him, escape at once and come to me. Mist and I will face him, and we will succeed where others have failed. I promise you that.”

A cheer met his words, but Soren remained silent. Ike’s announcement left a sour taste in his mouth. Even if Ike was right about the power of his sword, that was no reason to reject aid entirely, but he was still concerned with the purity of his revenge—even while they prepared to fight an actual goddess and prevent the end of the world. His lack of prioritization made Soren furious.

“Does anyone have any questions?” Ike asked, moving the announcement along.

“Um, actually—” Rolf raised his hand “—how the heck did he get from Begnion to Daein so fast all the time? Or back and forth from Crimea during the Mad King’s War? Or even that time at the river… He was behind us with the Central Army, so how did he get in front of us with the Daein Army?”

By Ike’s suddenly blank face, Soren had to assume he’d even asked himself that question. In truth, Soren was equally guilty of not considering it. He didn’t have an answer.

Fortunately, Rafiel did. “If what you say is true, I may have an explanation,” he offered tentatively, and Ike gestured for him to continue. “I believe a Rewarp staff may be responsible for the transportation of your foe, as I believe Rewarp staves moved the Disciples of Order last night.”

“A Rewarp staff?” Ike repeated in confusion. “I’ve never heard of anything like that.”

“It is an invention of the senate,” he explained meekly. “The enchantment was not yet perfected at the time of the burning of my home, but during my…capture, I did learn of their experiments.”

“Your capture…” Ike repeated, his voice and eyes tender with sympathy.

Nailah laid a reassuring hand on Rafiel’s arm, as if encouraging him to continue.

“I was in the custody of the senate the night of the Serenes Massacre,” Rafiel continued, “My wings were already broken, but one senator took pity and sought to free me. It was by an incomplete Rewarp staff that I was sent to Hatari.” He shook his long, white-gold locks. “I am sorry. I had not realized the senate had perfected their enchantment, or for that matter, increased its power such that they could move so many people at once. But when I saw the lights last night, I knew what they were.”

“Thank you.” Ike allowed a moment of silence for everyone to digest this new information before raising his voice and saying: “There you have it. The Disciples of Order have the ability to transport their units anywhere, completely sneaking up on us. And they have General Zelgius on their side, a man who won’t be easy to beat… Unfortunately for those Disciples of Order, however, it’s going to take a lot more than that to stop us! We’re marching straight to Sienne, climbing to the top of the Tower of Guidance, and we are going to slay a goddess and return all of the stone people back to life! Zelgius and the Disciples of Order might have given up on this world, but I’m never going to! Are you with me?”

Cheers and calls of “Yes!” and “We’re with you!” immediately met his words. Even Kurthnaga smiled weakly and raised an old-fashioned-looking salute. Soren couldn’t help but smile too, his anger forgotten. Every once in a while, Ike had a halfway decent speech in him.

“Then let’s move out!” Ike called in reply. “We’re burning daylight!”

Over the following weeks, the Greil Army engaged in regular skirmishes with the Disciples of Order, but it appeared there was a limit to the number of soldiers who could be transported at a single time, because their numbers never exceeded two hundred. The Greil Army took to camping in forts, town halls, watchtowers, and anywhere they could defend for a night. But they were ambushed during the day just as often, and sometimes there was nothing they could do but drop their supplies and fight for their lives. This inevitably slowed their progress, and Soren now predicted the trip to Sienne would take closer to two months.

That being said, Leanne reported via the sending stone that Micaiah said that Yune said that they were still making good time. Ashera was amassing her power for a final judgment, and as long as she was doing that, the three teams had time to reach her.

Rafiel shared the reports he received from Leanne and Reyson, and in this way, Soren and the others learned about the Silver and Hawk armies’ triumphs over the Disciples. Tibarn and Elincia, for example, won a particularly hard-fought victory in the Fraria Woods, in which they managed to eliminate Duke Valtome. Apparently the senator had been in command of the Disciples’ troops there.

Soren didn’t understand why Ashera would un-petrify that particular oaf for her army, especially after witnessing his poor command of the battlefield back in Crimea. But it appeared she had a penchant for Begnion senators, because the Silver Army later encountered (and defeated) a large number of Disciples under the command of Duke Numida in the Grann Desert. Ultimately, Soren could only assume the goddess was choosing to free fanatics most likely to serve her without question.

This would normally be to their advantage—facing opponents chosen for political reasons rather than their strength or wisdom. But even pathetic noblemen could make formidable opponents when blessed by a goddess. Wielding advanced light tomes and Rewarp staves, these ‘Sainted’ commanders put up a surprisingly good fight (much to Soren’s chagrin).

As the weeks passed, Shinon began taking a rapt interest in Rafiel’s reports, and Soren discovered that he’d designed a scorecard with the chief senators’ names on it. He, Gatrie, and Heather each had a copy and were placing bets on who would be eliminated next and by which of the three armies.

After a month and a half on the road, the Greil Army was finally nearing Sienne, and they made camp in a familiar locale: the mansion of the late Duke Oliver Tanas. A bitter deluge was cascading from the sky, and everyone was soaked and shivering by the time they got inside.

For good measure, Ike ordered the mercenaries to search the main building and ascertain that it was truly as empty as it looked. While Soren and Titania led this endeavor, Ike helped Mist prepare rooms and beds. As he walked the mansion’s halls, lighting old torches, Soren was surprised to find there were no stone servants or soldiers here. Over the past few weeks, he’d grown used to the shapes of frozen people appearing in the dark and around corners. Now their absence was unsettling.

He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. The senate had confiscated Oliver’s fortune, his estate, and his entire hold when he’d been found guilty of slaveholding and treason. Apparently he’d had no heir to reclaim it all after his execution. Now his precious art and collectables were gathering dust. On that note, Soren tested a bookshelf with his finger. To his surprise, there wasn’t actually any dust.

Finding the manse truly empty, Soren reunited with Titania and shared what he’d observed. She’d also found the manse suspiciously clean, but since this shouldn’t actually be a reason for concern, they both returned to Ike’s side. 

“Someone must have been living here; the place is spotless,” Titania explained, “By law, there shouldn’t be anyone staying here. I wonder if someone could have been squatting?”

“They’re a statue wherever they are,” Soren countered. “We didn’t find anyone in our search.”

Ike nodded his agreement. “Well, we’re the squatters now. I hope ol’ Tanas’s ghost doesn’t mind,” he added with a sideways grin.

For the rest of the afternoon, the mercenaries occupied themselves in the north wing, which they kept warm by stacking up the fires in every hearth. Soren perused Oliver’s collection of books and tomes, while by the fire Volug was trying to teach Ike the ancient language. Their lessons had only recently begun, and Ike was still struggling with the different sounds and letters.

In the next room, Oscar and Mist were serving a stew they’d made over the grand fireplace. (The kitchen was in a different wing of the building, and it was too cold and dark to venture there.) Jill and Haar were snoozing on one of Oliver’s soft divans, and in a corner, Heather was teaching Shinon how to pick the locks on some of the late senator’s chests (looking for hidden treasure, of course). It was a pleasant and peaceful scene, and yet a bad feeling was creeping into the back of Soren’s mind.

His foreboding was confirmed when Nailah burst into the study, pushing the door open so hard it slammed against the wall. “The Disciples of Order are here!” she announced, “They just appeared in the outer building!” She pointed to the L-shaped east wing, where lights were leaping to life in the windows.

Ike sprang to his feet. “Alright, let’s get everyone mobilized!” he said, signaling Titania, who bounded off to find the rest of the group. Haar and Jill had already woken up, and Oscar, Mist, and the others had come pouring in from the adjoining room.

Just then, Rafiel fell into the study behind Nailah. He was panting, and his usually calm demeanor had been replaced with one of panic. “General!” he called to Ike, “Come quickly! Our friends are in trouble!”

“Friends?” Ike repeated in confusion.

“This way!” was Rafiel’s reply, and he twisted around, running back the way he’d come. Nailah was right behind him, transforming so he could ride on her back. Ike drew his sword and raced after them—and Soren raced after Ike. The other mercenaries within earshot did the same, and he trusted Titania would find the rest and catch up.

When they reached the east wing, Soren heard the snarls of a tiger, the caws of a raven, and the roaring of fire. Ike and Nailah didn’t stop running until the fight came into view, and when they did, the rest of the mercenaries pulled to a halt behind them.

Soren could hardly believe what he was seeing. On a balcony above, Tormod was chanting Fire and Elfire spells, expertly contorting the bursts of flame into his enemies and fending off their attacks. His opponents were indeed the Disciples of Order.

“Hey! Isn’t that-” Ike started to say.

“It’s Tormod!” Mist cried happily. “We haven’t seen him in years!”

Muarim was fighting beside his adopted son, and while Soren watched, he got his head and withers under a Disciple swordsman and tossed him over the railing. The soldier’s scream came to a sudden stop when he broke his neck on the tile floor not far from where Nailah was standing.

Peering closer, Soren saw another laguz: a svelte raven who seemed to have no problem performing its aerial tricks in the confines of the vaulted room beyond. If Soren remembered the layout of the Tanas estate correctly, they were in the upper balcony of the duke’s main audience chamber.

“Extinguish them!” cried a Disciple.

Tormod laughed while avoiding the Disciple’s next strike. “Funny you should phrase it that way, you soon-to-be-cinder!” he shot back, immediately chanting an Elfire spell. The fireball dropped on the soldier, surrounding him in a cocoon of flame. But when it dissipated, the soldier merely ripped off his burning golden cape and fought on. “What the-” Tormod panted, ducking to avoid the next blow. “That should have worked better. Who are these guys?” he complained, dodging again. Muarim caught the back of soldier’s lance in his mouth and wrestled him for control.

“Tormod, your backup’s here!” Ike announced, cupping his mouth. “Just hold your position!”

“Much appreciated!” Tormod called without turning around. His lack of surprise indicated that he’d seen them enter the corridor. “Don’t worry,” he continued, “We’re not going anywhere!” With that, he finally turned over his shoulders and grinned down at the mercenaries. But when he focused his gaze on Ike, his face fell slack. “Wait a second…Ike? What happened to you, you musclehead!” he called indignantly, turning and pressing himself against the railing.

Muarim crushed another soldier’s head between his jaws before turning around to see what Tormod was looking at. Then he said something Soren couldn’t hear.

“Between him a Sothe, I’m starting to feel a little inadequate!” Tormod replied loudly, moving his hands to his hips. “Well, that settles it! I’ve still got a lot of growing to do, so I’ve got to survive! I can’t die like this!” With that, he turned back to the battle and started chanting more spells. Muarim shook his head but then lunged forward, tackling another Disciple to the floor.

“Alright,” Ike said, turning to address his mercenaries. Titania had just arrived, and her confused gaze moved from Tormod to Ike and back again. “Let’s help these guys out,” Ike said simply, “Get ready for battle!”

The tramp of armored boots indicated that Disciples were moving in on their location, and a moment later, they appeared around the turn at the end of the hall. There were two ways of reaching Tormod and the others: climbing the narrow stairs to their left or continuing down this corridor and taking the wide staircase at the end. Soren hurriedly recommended Ike split the group into two units, and he agreed.

“Nailah, Volug, Rafiel, Rhys, Shinon, and Heather—head up that way!” He pointed. “Everyone else, we’re going straight this way. Our first priority is saving Tormod’s team. Let’s get to them fast!”

The two groups split up without a word, and Soren was running down the hall, uttering an Elwind incantation. He’d become quite adept at dual casting these past few weeks, and now it had become second nature to conjure a few shreds of wind armor at the beginning of each new assault. The latent Elwind spells would spin around him until they were needed to block, deflect, or counter an attack Soren couldn’t dodge. In turn, that would save him time and energy to cast other spells offensively.

When it came to fighting the Disciples of Order, this was the only tactic that gave him the opportunity to get close enough to consistently target their weak points. But balancing his offensive and defensive magic was always a struggle, and he had to maintain control of the spells he’d already conjured while incanting and aiming new ones.

Ike met Tormod and the others at the entrance to the audience chamber, and here they stood their ground while quickly exchanging greetings.

“What are you doing here?” Ike asked in disbelief.

“It’s a long story,” Tormod replied. “Well maybe not long, but definitely weird.” He incanted another Elfire spell before continuing. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but everybody got turned to stone somehow.”

“Yeah, that’s another long story.” Ike shook his head before stepping forward and plunged his sword straight through a Disciple’s breastplate.

Tormod gaped as if the display offended him. “Hey!” he complained, “When did you get so strong?”

Ike shrugged one shoulder and kept fighting. “Haven’t I always been?”

“Sothe grew like a head taller since the war too,” Tormod pouted. Although he must be twenty-one now, he was hardly taller than Soren and still looked like a skinny kid. This was not helped by the fact that he insisted on wearing shorts (even in winter) with his knobby knees on full display. Soren might have thought he was a slow-aging Branded if not for the fact that his own senses confirmed Tormod was, indeed, fully beorc. Apparently he was just short.

“It is not a competition,” advised Muarim in a low voice. He had a long gash running down his side, and Mist touched his flank to coax him into a more protected corner. Here he transformed and bent so she could assess the damage.

Boyd stepped up to take his place, and the raven swept over his head for a moment’s reprieve. Transforming into the shape of a young woman with green-black hair and jet-black wings, she pressed herself against the wall, breathing hard. She eyed the mercenaries warily while fumbling with an arrow sticking out of her left wing.

“Ike, this is Vika,” Tormod introduced her, “She helped fight in the Daein Rebellion too, and she’s one of the few of us back in Zunanma who didn’t end up as a statue. Vika, this is Ike, Titania, Soren, Boyd, and Mist of the Greil Mercenaries.”

Vika moved her gaze over them, and she quivered visibly when she saw Soren. Her eyes immediately darted away.

“Mist is a healer,” Tormod continued, “like Laura and Micaiah. Maybe she can help you with tha-”

“I’ve got it,” Vika hissed, finally wrenching out the arrowhead. Dropping it to the ground, she fluttered her wings and turned on the spot. “I’m going back out.” With a running start, she jumped, beat her wings, and transformed at the same time. She flew back over Boyd’s head and immediately began tearing into a Disciple archer (perhaps the one who’d shot her).

Ike ran to catch up, obviously intent on not letting her fight alone. Tormod and Titania were right behind him, and soon the battle was spilling into the center of the room. Soren was annoyed by the raven-woman’s reaction, but now wasn’t the time to worry about such things. There was a battle to fight.

Before long, they made their way to the raised dais in the room’s rear alcove—because apparently Duke Oliver Tanas used to like to sit on a throne like a king when entertaining company. Or at least, that was what Soren thought when the alcove came into view. When he got a closer look, he had to amend his assessment—apparently Oliver still liked to sit on a throne like a king, because the ex-senator was currently sitting right there.

“You! You’re still alive?” Ike demanded in disbelief.

“The world simply could not bear to be without me,” squealed Oliver, who kicked his feet like an excited baby. “My execution was just a ruse!”

Ike threw himself at the guards in front of Oliver’s dais, but they were tough and repelled him. Oliver laughed again. “Your crude weapons have no effect against true magnificence! Blessed with such beauty, I have no foes…only inferiors!”

“Glad to see you’re still barely clinging to that last shred of sanity,” Ike returned, continuing to fight. “Just— _urgh_ —give it up already!”

There were still plenty of soldiers between the mercenaries and the duke, and more were pouring in from side corridors by the second. Instead of helping Ike, Soren turned his attention to the reinforcements. He incanted additional Wind and Elwind spells until there were six unique gusts churning around him, ready to deflect whatever came. However, the winds were jumpy and difficult to control, so as he fought, Soren moved away from his allies. His concentration was already stretched to capacity, and avoiding friendly fire was one less thing to worry about.

When he was a safe distance away, he began chanting new spells, but Elfire and Elthunder weren’t having much effect on these Disciples anymore, especially the members of Oliver’s guard who came from the alcove. Flipping to his more advanced spells, Soren decided he would have to push himself even further if he was going to be of any use. He cast Thoron on a golden-armored shield night, and sustained the spiraling bolts until he was sure the man was dead. Then he cast Bolganone under a couple spearmen on the opposite side, fueling the bubbling lava until they’d lost their legs and were sure to die.

Meanwhile his armor of wind was snatching arrows of the air and even deflecting a flying hand-axe. Soren ducked to avoid the swing of a sword, and then twisted out of the way of a lance. The winds leapt to block an axe he was about to stumble right into, and although Soren was grateful that his preplanning had paid off, he wished he wasn’t running through his prepared spells so quickly.

He began chanting new ones: a defensive Wind, an offensive Elwind, a defensive Elwind, an offensive Tornado, two more defensive Wind spells, and so on. He could hardly catch his breath, and soon the arrows and enemy blades were coming so close that they grazed his skin before the winds stopped them.

Soon Soren was bleeding from dozens of stinging cuts but it was better than being seriously maimed—or more likely, dead. He continued to whip the winds around him until he felt someone familiar come closer: Tormod. Soren glared. If he weren’t so busy chanting, he would tell the overeager fire sage to stay back.

“Let me help!” Tormod offered, immediately chanting two Elthunder and two Elfire spells to push back the Disciples closing in on him.

Soren didn’t say thank you. Instead he used the momentary reprieve to focus on incanting a powerful Bolganone spell. He melted the tiles atop a nearby staircase, momentarily slowing the flow of Disciples.

“Again!” Tormod called, reaching his side.

Soren suspected he knew what he intended, and he started chanting the words to Bolganone again. Tormod began at the same time, and they incanted together. Peeking past Tormod’s arm, Soren eyed the ancient writing there and decided to use one of Tormod’s spells instead of one from his own tome since he was starting to run low.

When they reached the end of the incantation, they both cast out their arms and willed the wave of lava to push down the stairwell, raining molten stone on the heads of the Disciplines. Those who couldn’t retreat fast enough were killed. As an added advantage, when the floor cooled, the stairs became a steep slope.

“We did it!” Tormod cheered, clapping Soren’s arm. “Just like old times.”

Soren gave him a withering look, but at least now he had a moment to breathe.

Then the young man glanced down and realized Soren had stolen one of his spells. “Hey!” he complained. “Did you just-”

“Thank you,” Soren said stiffly.

This seemed to placate Tormod, who grabbed his arm and pulled. “C’mon! Ike’s fighting the fatso; let’s help!”

Soren ripped his arm out of Tormod’s grip, because the pressure had stretched the lacerations there, causing them to sting even worse. Tormod didn’t seem to realize he’d caused him any grief or that he now had Soren’s blood on his hands. He merely jaunted away, hopping over the dead bodies Soren had left on the ground.

Since there were no more Disciples to fight here, and the ones at the bottom of the stairs were having a hard time dragging their heavy armor up the incline, Soren decided to run after Tormod. Soon he was immersed in the fray again, but since he was no longer surrounded by enemies, Soren cast only a single Elwind spell as a guard. He then fought with Thoron and Tornado spells, which he was able to concentrate on just one or two opponents at a time.

Tormod was using Elfire and Bolganone, and after eyeing Soren a bit, he called out: “Hey! I see what you’re doing! Here, let me try!” A moment later, he conjured a protective Elfire spell that spun around him in a ring but exploded at any Disciples who tried to attack him. “Woo! It’s working!” He strutted forward, throwing his hips side-to-side at his opponents. With each thrust, a burst of flame shot out at an unlucky and confused-looking Disciple.

Soren shook his head at Tormod’s antics and continued fighting his own battles. He’d been trying to get closer to Ike and Oliver since returning to the alcove, and now he used wind magic to open a path in that direction. Soon he was able to see Ike ducking, dodging, and appearing quite frustrated. Oliver was standing in front of his throne, and his immediate guards were dead. However, the duke was wielding a strange kind of magic, and it was clearly giving Ike a hard time.

Soren pushed closer, listening to Oliver incant and trying to identify the spell: “*Thieving spirits of darkness, magnanimous spirits of light, take their life and make it mine!*” Oliver sang, and to Soren’s confusion, it sounded like he was calling on both the spirits of light and darkness to do his bidding.

He thought perhaps he’d incanted two spells at once, but then he saw the magic in action and realized his mistake. A shadow shot across the ground from Oliver to Ike while, at the same time, a beam of light shot above it. Ike raised his sword and his pauldron to hide behind its meager protection, but the light didn’t burn. Now Ike tried to duck away, but the shadow had him immobilized. The light intensified, and Ike began panting and growing pale. His knees started to buckle. When Oliver finally terminated the spell, Ike lurched gracelessly but didn’t fall.

“Ike!” Soren called in alarm. “It’s Nosferatu! Light and dark magic together!” He tried to get closer, but there were still soldiers here that wanted to kill him. Soren cast Tornado to defend himself.

Meanwhile, Ike showed no sign that he’d heard his warning, and he was already running in a zig-zag to try to get closer to Oliver. However, the senator was a surprisingly fast incanter despite the heavy-looking jowls and mustache that swamped his lips. He finished the next spell and froze Ike just after he’d sliced his chest and arm. Oliver was left with only a small scratch and stumbled backward. The shadow between them stretched, and still Ike couldn’t move. Oliver laughed, and his cut healed instantaneously.

“What was that?” Ike asked weakly, and Soren realized he was talking to him.

“He can immobilize you and steal your lifeforce for himself!” he called back. “Watch the ground!” There were more Disciples coming from behind, so Soren turned to face them, casting Thoron this time. He had to trust Ike could handle Oliver on his own.

When he could, he glanced back to see how his commander was faring. Unfortunately he was swaying on his feet while Oliver was positively glowing. The nobleman was faster and nimbler than he should have been, which was likely a side-effect of consuming Ike’s vitality. However, Soren suspected Ike had more strength in reserve than he was letting on.

When Oliver attacked again, Ike plunged his sword in the mortar between the floor tiles, lifted himself off of his feet and sent a flying kick right into Oliver’s face. The shadows couldn’t find him and dispersed, and Oliver fell backward. Leaving Ragnell imbedded in the floor, Ike pummeled the duke with a dozen punches that sounded disgustingly like he was beating a sack of wet meat. When he was done, Oliver couldn’t rise. Soren had concluded his own battles and could finally approach.

“Aagh,” Oliver whined, his mouth filling with blood from his lost teeth and bitten tongue. “Shtill sho many beaut’ul hings…’at…I don’…own.” With that, his voice collapsed into gurgling as he struggled to breathe and roll over.

Ike pulled his sword from the ground, and in one wide arc, he cut Oliver’s head clean off. “He was overdue for his execution,” Ike grumbled, flicking the blade so most of the blood splattered onto the floor.

“Agreed.” Soren turned his attention to the rest of the battle and cast another Tornado spell to keep Mia from becoming surrounded. A moment later, she and Jill had finished cutting down all the Disciples around them.

Looking for another opponent, Soren couldn’t find any. Every golden-armored Disciple still on two feet was already locked in battle with someone else, and as the seconds ticked by, they were all falling. When no one was left and no more enemies presented themselves, the mercenaries looked to Ike for direction.

“Well,” Ike said, sounding tired, “that’s another storm weathered.” His forehead was beaded with sweat, and Soren knew those Nosferatu spells had taken their toll. “Let’s get back to the north wing. Everyone, try to get some sleep and be ready for tomorrow!”

Sighing, giving halfhearted cheers, and groaning as they stretch sore limbs, the mercenaries got their bearings and headed for the nearest exit. Soren and Ike had each taken a few steps in the same direction when a sudden circle of purple light caught their attention. Someone was warping into the corner of the room. The circle filled with a triangle and then lifted in a shower of glowing sparks.

When the light was gone, an old man was standing there. He was balding, slightly hunched, and dressed in white robes. He was leaning on an ornately carved, silver cane that Soren had to assume was a Rewarp staff. “Wiped out…” he observed with watery eyes. “Not a man left standing… It must be the will of the Goddess.”

“H-Hetzel!” Rafiel called in a strange, strangled voice, “You- You’re-” He fell forward and caught himself as if the sight of the old man had taken the ground from under his feet.

“Rafiel? How-” The man—Hetzel—gazed at the heron in equal alarm. Then his expression softened into a tearful smile. “You’re still alive! I’m so glad you’re safe…” Tear spilled onto his wrinkled cheeks, and he took a step forward. His fingers were outstretched, but he held his hand near his body as if restraining himself.

Ike had drawn his sword as soon as the man appeared, and now he raised it in warning. Nailah stepped in front of Rafiel and crossed her arms. The heron closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. His fists were clenched in a way that made him look more like Reyson. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Hetzel took a step back, and his head sank even lower. “So, you know then…” he said in a quiet voice. “What we did was unforgivable… I was against it from the beginning,” His voice cracked. “I argued with the others time and again!” When Rafiel offered no response, Hetzel took another step back into the corner where he’d arrived. “Ah, what’s the use.” He wiped the tears from his face. “It doesn’t matter what I say now. Rafiel…despite everything, I’m very happy to see that you’re alive. But I beg of you… Stay away from the capital. You must not anger the Goddess!” With a shake of his head, he tapped the staff against the floor and muttered a single word in the ancient language: “*Rewarp*.”

The purple lights encircled his feet, and Ike lurched forward. “Hey, stop!” But he couldn’t reach the old man in time. A moment later, he was gone.

“I suppose this indicates that those wielding Rewarp staves can use them on themselves,” Soren observed aloud. “How peculiar. We should alert the other teams to this fact.” He turned to Ike, but he clearly wasn’t listening. He strode toward Rafiel, who was wiping his eyes with a handkerchief Nailah had just given him.

“I’ve seen that man before,” Ike began, “He’s a pretty influential senator, isn’t he?”

“His name is Hetzel, Duke of Asmin,” Rafiel answered in a shaky voice. “I owe him my life.” Nailah patted Rafiel’s arm. Although Soren supposed it was possible this man had been the one to teleport Rafiel to Hatari, he couldn’t help but think that this wasn’t how a person reacted merely upon seeing someone who’d taken pity on their life. 

“Ike, I’m sorry,” Nailah said, looping her arm under Rafiel’s wings, “but can we talk later? Rafiel needs to rest.”

“Yes, of course,” Ike replied, although the confusion and unasked questions in his voice were clear. Nailah led Rafiel away, and the rest of those who’d lingered to see the aged senator appear resumed their trudge out of the audience chamber—Soren included.

Back in the north wing, Soren sat beside the fire and dabbed vulneraries and elixirs onto his cuts, and one after the other, they closed up. Since none of his wounds were imminently life-threatening, he decided not to bother Mist or Rhys with them (although they did offer).

While he did so, he was in a good position to listen to Ike’s conversation with Tormod, Muarim, and Vika. Nailah, Volug, and Jill were here as well, since they’d become friends with the trio during the Daein Rebellion. Rafiel, however, was sleeping in an adjacent room.

“Well, we stayed in Daein for a bit,” Tormod explained, “and Micaiah and Pelleas tried to help us find Izuka, but we never had any luck.”

“We heard rumors of a mad scientist in Begnion,” Muarim added, “so we returned.”

“We didn’t have much luck here either though,” Tormod sighed. “And then there was that whole Laguz-Begnion War, and we were told ‘politely’ to go back to Zunanma and stay there.” He shot Ike a petulant glare, “Thanks for that one.”

“Wait.” Ike raised his hands in confusion. “You can’t blame me for the Laguz-Begnion War. Also, who the hell is Izuka?”

“A bad human,” Muarim growled.

“Wow, I can’t believe that never came up!” Jill said apologetically. “I guess all the laguz kings should’ve had a right to know…”

“I am equally at fault,” Nailah sighed, recrossing her legs and leaning back on her forearms. She didn’t seem particularly apologetic. “I did not think he was a threat, and I did not wish to sew distrust between the laguz and Daein.”

“Okay,” Ike said, “But can you tell us now? Because I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I would like to know as well,” added Ena, joining their group.

Volug wordlessly vacated his seat for her, and taking on his wolf form, he curled up in front of the fire instead. (The reticent wolf-man had a penchant for half-shifting, which meant slithering out of his clothes and walking around with his balls on display like a regular dog—it had certainly taken some getting used to these past weeks.)

Soren continued to dab the wounds on his arms, but not before twisting his chair slightly so he would have better access to the discussion. Vika shivered and glanced away when their eyes met, and Soren tried to ignore the way she rubbed down the goosebumps on her arms. “What were you doing in Daein before the war?” he addressed Tormod and Muarim, indicating that he too wanted a full explanation.

Mist and Titania each approached, sitting on the floor near Volug. “Alright, alright, is that everyone?” Tormod asked with mock-indignance. (He obviously loved the attention.) Ike gestured for him to continue. “Well, way back when Begnion was still in control of Daein, me, Muarim, Vika, and some others from Zunanma went on a mission to find the guy responsible for poisoning the feral laguz, those experiments at Gritnea Tower, developing that smokescreen, starting the feral smuggling ring—all of it.”

“The man who twisted my Rajaion?” Ena asked. Her hands fell protectively to her belly. “Izuka… He is still free?”

Tormod turned to her in surprise. “You sound like you know him.” Ena shivered, and he seemed to regret the accusation in his voice. “Sorry, I-”

“Of course I knew him,” Ena cut him off in a soft voice. “I led Sir Ike and King Tibarn to Gritnea Tower to kill him. But he escaped… I thought you beorc would deal with him after I left for Goldoa.”

“Well it would have been nice to know his name!” Tormod complained, but again he winced and apologized, “Er, sorry.”

Ena shook her head slowly. “I wanted to forget everything… I wanted to go home. I am sorry. I did not stay and try to repair Ashnard’s damage.”

Tormod took a moment before resuming his story: “Uh, anyway, since we didn’t know who the guy was, it took a long time. In the end, we found him by accident. We were in Daein when the rebellion started and got mistaken for part of Micaiah’s Dawn Brigade. Micaiah and Sothe saved our skins, so we ended up joining their little band of revolutionaries anyway,” he added with a grin.

“It was like the old days,” Muarim purred softly, “fighting in the Emancipation Army and then in the Crimea Liberation Army.”

“Sounds like fun,” Ike replied stiffly. Soren knew he still had mixed feelings about Micaiah and Daein.

“Anyway, Izuka was the name of this gross old guy who was Prince Pelleas’s advisor, or tutor, or something. I never got the full story on how they met.” Tormod shrugged. “Turns out he was exactly the man we were looking for, but we didn’t realize it until he tried to poison Muarim!” He crossed his arms as if to say he was still holding a grudge.

“That’s terrible!” Titania exclaimed.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” Mist added, addressing Muarim.

He nodded in thanks. “I wouldn’t be if not for Prince Rafiel,” he said. “His galdr saved me.”

Ena wiped her eyes hastily, and Tormod turned to her as if terrified she was going to break down. “Oh, uh, sorry. I’m sure this is a sensitive topic…”

“I am fine,” Ena assured, and her breath was calm. Her eyes dried in a moment. “Please continue your story.”

Tormod nodded and seemed to think for a moment. “Anyway, after that happened, Izuka should have been arrested on the spot, but dummy Pelleas wouldn’t do it!”

“Please do not call King Pelleas a dummy,” Ena said quietly. Once again, Soren wondered why she and Kurthnaga cared what happened to Daein and its king.

“The boy speaks the truth,” Nailah addressed Ena, and there was an edge to her voice. “You know the cost of Pelleas’s misjudgment.”

“And that would be?” Ike asked, obviously confused again.

Nailah jerked her head to the side to indicate she would say no more. 

Ena just stared at her hands. “You speak truly, Queen Nailah…” she mumbled but said nothing more.

Tormod glanced from one to the other as if he had no idea what they were talking about, but then he resumed the story: “So Izuka, yeah… We kept our distance until after the war, but we still wanted to help Micaiah and keep fighting alongside her.”

“We assumed there would be a chance to petition King Pelleas for justice after his coronation,” Muarim added in a low voice. “We believed he would let us have Izuka when he no longer relied on the madman for his war.”

“Well, that didn’t happen,” Tormod sighed in exasperation. “Izuka completely dropped off the map! We’re back to square one trying to find him again.”

“And you returned to Begnion,” Ike said, as if collecting the lost threads of the story. “You were stuck in Zunanma during the war. Then what happened?”

“After the Laguz-Begnion War, there were all these rumors of a civil war,” Tormod answered. “The Senate sent a messenger saying that we were suspected of treason even though we hadn’t done anything. Then Commander Sigrun showed up to check on us and said we had better keep a low profile until things blew over or until Empress Sanaki came with an army.” He raised both palms. “Explain that one to me.”

“I probably could,” Ike chuckled. “That army was us, and we really were on our way. In fact, Sanaki and Sigrun are with Micaiah right now. They should just be leaving the Grann Desert. They probably passed Zunanma.”

Tormod looked flabbergasted.

“Suspend your disbelief,” Titania warned, “There’s much more.”

“You mean the reason everyone was petrified?” Muarim asked gently.

“That was the medallion,” Ike explained. “The dark god was released—except she wasn’t a dark god at all. She is Ashera’s opposite, and it was Ashera who turned everyone to stone. We’re on our way to fight her now.”

“Fight…Ashera,” Tormod repeated incredulously.

“So,” Ike moved on, “Why are you three here—‘here’ as in Duke Tanas’s mansion?”

“You won’t believe me.” Tormod shook his head (apparently accepting the Ashera situation), “but it came to us in a dream.”

“A dream?” Ike repeated.

“Yeah. Not long after that light turned everyone to stone, I had a really strange dream.” Tormod looked at the ceiling as if trying to recall it. “I don’t remember it very well, but it was like there was a voice in my head, whispering encouragement. When I woke up, I knew what I had to do. I knew that everyone who hadn’t been petrified was heading to the Tower of Guidance, and from there we’d all be saved.”

“I had the same dream,” Muarim added. “I thought this must be a divine revelation, so we left the desert to make for the tower. However, we had hardly set foot beyond our home before we were called here instead.”

“Sounds like more of Yune’s handiwork,” Ike proposed.

“Agreed,” Nailah said with an appreciative smile. “This must be her way of gathering able bodies. I suppose a Goddess of Chaos will do things her own way.”

“Yune?” Tormod repeated. “Is that the dark goddess I keep hearing about? Should I even be listening to her?” He clamped his hands over his ears and pulled a disturbed face.

Ike chuckled. “I can’t really put it into words, but I can feel it inside. Listening to her is the right thing to do. I guess it’s a lot like the dream you described.”

Nailah bobbed her head once. “We laguz are pretty intuitive,” she said, casting her gaze from Volug, to Muarim, and then to Vika. “I feel it in my blood—in the soles of my feet and my connection to the land—Yune is the goddess of our ancestors,” she declared, “I trust her.”

Each laguz nodded, and that seemed to be enough for Tormod. “Alright,” he agreed with a grin. “That makes it a little easier to come to grips with. We’ll definitely be joining you in Sienne!”

“We’ll be glad to have you.” Ike nodded firmly. “You too, Muarim, Vika.”

“You have not explained one thing,” Muarim spoke up. “Who were the golden soldiers we fought this evening?”

“Oh, right,” Ike sighed. “The Disciples of Order…” While he continued the explanation, Soren only half-listened and once again focused on attending his cuts, which were nearly all sealed now. Only those on his back and the back of his legs remained, but he judged they weren’t deep and he would feel foolish struggling to reach them in front of everyone. When Ike finished his explanation and the discussion devolved into yawning and sleepy murmuring, Soren decided nothing else of value would be said this evening.

Although he was glad to finally know the identity of the man behind the horrors of Gritnea Tower, in truth, it hardly seemed to matter anymore. They were nearly to Sienne. In only a couple weeks, they would face Ashera. Whether they died in battle, lived long enough to be petrified, or somehow managed to defeat her and survive, nothing would ever go back to the way it was. Villains like Izuka were a problem for a different world.

Soren excused himself, deciding to finish mending his wounds and go to bed.

“Wait up.” Ike reached him before he’d even made it to the hall.

“Yes?”

“You’re still bleeding. Come on, I’ll get those for you.” He started walking toward the room where most of the mercenaries would be sleeping.

“That is not necessary,” Soren replied, but since that was the direction he was headed anyway, he followed.

“I saw you fighting today,” Ike continued with a yawn. “You’re getting good—I mean, you’ve always been good. But since we started fighting these Disciples you’ve really pulled out all the stops.”

“…Thank you,” Soren replied warily, wondering where this was going.

“But you still try to do too much alone,” Ike concluded, glancing at him.

Soren bit back his reply, because it irked him to hear Ike say such a thing: Ike who, despite relying on his friends in battle for years, still insisted on fighting the Black Knight—Zelgius—by himself.

Ike pushed open the door, revealing Oscar, Boyd, and Rolf already inside, all sleeping soundly. They’d been fighting harder recently too. Everyone had. Soren decided not to point this out and instead submitted to Ike’s ministrations, saying little and only in whispers so not to wake the brothers. As weak as he was when it came to Ike, Soren couldn’t help but enjoy his quiet voice and the gentle pressure of his fingers on his stinging wounds.

When the task was done, Soren grudgingly thanked him and prepared for bed. The room had been filled with Oliver’s mattresses and soft cushions, and it was kept warm by the smoldering fire. Soren chose a spot in the corner where he imagined he could be alone with his thoughts. Around this time, Rhys also came in to sleep. Ike greeted him softly before lying down himself. The spot he chose was nearby. Soren was curled facing the wall, but Ike’s closeness still made his heart race. These were strange days and stranger nights.


	21. CHAPTER 87: REUNION

The next morning, Mist and Titania took charge of packing while Ike and Nailah spoke with Rafiel about his breakdown yesterday. Soren did his part to ensure necessary items were being checked off the list and that they were taking everything they could from the mansion. Ike must have wheedled Aimee into giving Tormod a sheaf of Rexflame spells just as she’d given Soren the Rexcalibur pages, because he caught sight of her handing them to the excited boy as if it pained her.

“Just take it, just take it!” she moaned, “What matter is money any longer? Apparently this is just what I do now…”

“Thanks, lady,” Tormod said, pulling gently on the brittle paper, “But you have to, uh, let _go_.” Soren walked away, not wanting to see the priceless pages damaged but also unwilling to intervene.

He circled back to where Mist and Titania were assessing the ancient Physic and Mend staves they’d found on display in one of Oliver’s parlors. “Look, Soren, we found a Hammerne!” Mist called.

“Yes, that may be helpful as we prepare for the final battle,” Soren replied objectively, not sharing her excitement.

Mist gingerly laid it among the others in the back of the wagon, and Titania tucked a tarp around them. “Have you seen Ike?”

Soren shook his head. “He was still with Nailah and Rafiel last I knew.”

Mist seemed suddenly saddened. “Oh, poor Rafiel.”

“Yes,” Titania agreed, “It must be quite hard to see someone like that again under such circumstances.”

“What are you talking about?” Soren asked, wondering if they had intelligence he wasn’t party to.

Mist glanced uncertainly at him. “Oh, I don’t know if you’d understand…”

“Try me.” Soren crossed his arms.

“Well, it’s obvious isn’t it?” Titania answered, seeming suddenly bashful. “Rafiel was in love with Hetzel.”

“What?”

Mist giggled nervously. “I mean, that’s what Titania and I think.”

“That is ridiculous.”

Titania sighed and leaned against the wagon. “Don’t be so narrowminded. You saw the way they reacted when they saw each other. I’m sure Hetzel felt the same way.”

“Duke Hetzel of Asmin was one of the senators responsible for the Serenes Massacre.”

“I know…” Titania sighed. “That’s why Rafiel is so hurt now.”

“Still, it makes you wonder,” Mist added sadly, “if you can still have feelings for someone who turned out to be such a bad person. I’m sure it can’t be easy.”

Soren shook his head firmly. “You were right. I do not understand.” He turned his attention to the rest of the crates and loosely strewn weapons. “See that these supplies are accounted for. I will make sure Ena and Kurthnaga are moving.” With that, he left abruptly.

When they were back on the road again, Rafiel was even quieter than usual, and Nailah did everything in her power to cheer him up. Soren considered Mist and Titania’s theory and determined they were probably correct. But that didn’t make Rafiel and Hetzel’s affair touching.

Any union between laguz and beorc was wrong, twisted, and destined for disaster. Long ago, Apostle Darma, Third Empress of the Altina Dynasty, had declared interracial coupling a violation of Ashera’s will and codified it into law throughout the empire. Soren now knew that neither Darma nor any other apostle had ever known Ashera’s will, but the taboo had existed long before Begnion had written it down—and for good reason. As far as Soren was concerned, Hetzel’s betrayal of Rafiel was evidence of that. End of story. No need to discuss it further. No need to hear Ike’s opinion on the matter.

Over the following days, Rafiel slowly overcame his gloom while continuing to share his reports from Leanne and Reyson. In this way, they discovered that the Silver Army had successfully exited the desert and was nearing Sienne. As an added note, Leanne claimed they’d picked up another ally in the Grann: the hermit Stefan. Soren wondered if Yune had sent him a dream similar to Tormod and Muarim, but he didn’t ask.

A couple days later, Reyson reported that the Hawk Army had also picked up new recruits: Geoffrey, Bastian, and Volke. Apparently Geoffrey had received Yune’s dream the night after Ashera’s judgement. Heeding the call, he’d made the long journey from Melior to Salmo. Soren couldn’t believe he’d made such quick time, but Rafiel explained that the rockslide blocking Flaguerre Pass had apparently disappeared. Accepting that Yune was working arbitrary miracles to bring her champions together, it was still an impressive feat for Geoffrey to have crossed such a distance in less than two months.

As for Bastian, he had also heard Yune’s message in a dream. Apparently, he’d been in the process of transporting two prisoners here in Begnion when Ashera’s judgment had struck. Just as Yune had diverted Tormod, Muarim, and Vika to aid the Greil Army in Tanas, it seemed she’d diverted Geoffrey to aid Bastian and, in turn, unite with the Hawk Army.

“According to Reyson,” Rafiel explained slowly, “The peculiar man named Bastian was spared Ashera’s judgement along with just one of his guards: an assassin named Volke. Reyson said you would know him…”

“Volke?” Ike grinned. “We haven’t seen him since the end of the Mad King’s War! Of course he’d be palling around with Bastian. He loves money, Bastian has money—it’s a perfect match.” The mercenaries chuckled in agreement.

“If I may continue…” Rafiel said, and everyone settled down. “Unfortunately, Bastian’s two prisoners were also spared Ashera’s judgement, and they became difficult to guard. One was a deranged beorc man whom Bastian and Volke struggled to prevent from killing himself. His name is Renning. Reyson said that would have meaning to you as well.”

“Lord- Lord Renning?” Titania repeated in disbelief. “But, he died in Ashnard’s first attack. Years ago!”

Rafiel shook his head to indicate her protests were meaningless to him. “Reyson said the man had been poisoned by the same toxin that twists the minds and bodies of feral laguz. However, he was able to heal him with the galdr of rebirth. This ‘Renning’ man is alive and whole once more according to Reyson’s description.”

“It’s a miracle!” Titania rejoiced.

“How did he survive this long?” Ike asked in disbelief.

“You mentioned he was suicidal?” Soren asked next, “Did Reyson associate any other name with this man?”

“Yes actually… He said Ike may also know Renning by the name Bertram. Is that the case?” He turned to Ike although it was clear none of this actually mattered to Rafiel.

Ike’s eyes widened in amazement. “The man I fought at Pinell…”

Soren nodded curtly. “It is as I suspected. Bastian staged Betram’s death and abducted him. He must have been looking for a way to heal Renning this entire time.” He rounded on Rafiel. “Who was the other prisoner?”

The heron answered solemnly: “It was none other than King Pelleas’s advisor, Izuka.”

This was followed by a collective gasp. “Speak of the devil,” Tormod growled. He and Muarim pushed closer to the front. “What happened to him? Where is he now?”

Rafiel raised both hands weakly, as if trying to restrain the rising tensions. “According to Reyson, Izuka escaped when the two men were dealing with one of Renning’s fits. They were trying to track him down when they united with the man named Geoffrey. The three had located Izuka’s position by the time the Hawk Army found them, and together everyone defeated Izuka. He is dead now. You may be at peace,” he finished gently, addressing Tormod and Muarim.

But it was Ena who seemed most relieved. “He is…truly…”

“I should hope so,” Ike said, folding his arms as if satisfied. “He was just one man against all of the Hawk Army, plus Bastian, Volke, and Geoffrey? No one could survive that!”

Rafiel nodded uncertainly. “While what you say is true, it appears Izuka had been aided in his escape by the senate and Disciples of Order. He had a Rewarp staff in his possession and was able to transport dozens of feral laguz at a time. According to Reyson…it was a heartbreaking battle.”

Ike dropped his arms, obviously regretting his joke. “Is everyone okay?”

“More or less. Reyson believes all of the feral ones Izuka had been keeping died on the battlefield. I know not if they found peace, but at least their pain has now ended.”

“…Thank you for telling us,” Ike said after a long pause. “That was a good report. I’m glad we know.” Silence followed his words until he broke the tension: “Let’s get moving. Just a few more days, and we’ll be in Sienne.”

Tormod and Muarim were the first to walk numbly from the group, and Vika trailed after them. Nailah led Rafiel away, and Kurthnaga came to touch Ena’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asked, and it was the first time Soren had heard the Dragon Prince initiate a conversation.

As he walked away, Soren considered how he’d disregarded Izuka as a nonissue back in Tanas. Now the poisoner was dead, justice had been served, and mysteries were being solved left and right. According to Shinon’s scorecard, only three of the chief senators were still alive. There would be no more Begnion Civil War after this. Everything was ending.

This thought was somehow more unnerving than the idea that monsters like Izuka could still be on the loose. It no longer behooved Soren to imagine a world when all of this was over, a world where loose ends would have to be tied up. His heart felt heavy and slow-beating. _Everything is ending_ , he thought again, _Everything is ending._

After hearing Reyson’s report about defeating the feral laguz in the swamp near Salmo, Rafiel received no further transmissions via the sending stone. They were close to Sienne now, and this lack of contact made everyone nervous.

“It may be Ashera’s influence,” Ena proposed, when Ike asked her. “Her power is thick here, dampening the herons’ telesthesia.” Ike accepted this explanation, and no one dared suggest something might have happened to the other two teams.

Although they expected the Disciples of Order to have formed defenses close to the city, the Greil Army met no resistance on their approach. The city of spires came into view, and at the center was the Tower of Guidance. The golden tower was radiating a white light that burned away the clouds in a halo. The impossible height was dizzying, and Soren felt unbalanced and confused if he gazed up at it.

“That must be…” Ike breathed.

“…The Tower of Guidance,” Titania finished. “It’s so bright I can hardly look! What’s happening in there?”

“Let’s hurry, Ike,” Soren said, trying to keep from his voice the awe that filled theirs. “I can’t imagine that glowing is a good omen. We’re running out of time.”

Passing through the outer districts, the Greil Army still found no Disciples lying in wait, but when they reached the wall surrounding the city’s heart, the grand doors were closed. “The city gate is shut.” Ike observed with his hands on his hips. “I guess we’ll have to force it open to get to the tower and-” His words were silenced as a massive red shape started bounding toward him.

Soren had felt Skrimir’s approach, so he wasn’t as startled as the others. But soon everyone was laughing and smiling as they recognized the prince jaunting toward them like a giant, playful kitten. “Skrimir!” Ike greeted him.

The lion reverted his form and wrapped Ike in a hug, lifting him onto his tiptoes. “Ahh! You guys made it!”

“I didn’t realize your group had already arrived,” Ike chuckled as Skrimir released him. Soren turned his attention to where Micaiah, Sothe, Sanaki, Sigrun, Naesala, and the rest of the Silver Army were approaching them from an adjacent road.

“Yes, we’ve been here for quite some time,” Skrimir sighed, “I’ve been itching to go inside and see what the bad guys have waiting for us!” He gave the closed gate the grin of an easily tempted man.

“Skrimir listened to _reason_ , however,” Sanaki spoke up, giving him a pointed but familiar glare, “and agreed to wait here with us. We know nothing about the numbers or strength of the enemy.”

Micaiah nodded. “It seemed safest to wait here for the rest of you to you show up. So we pitched tents outside the gate.” She gestured back the way they’d come.

“Hello, Micaiah.” Ike walked toward her, but his bearing was uncertain. “Any word from Yune?”

“She came back to me a number of times during our trip,” she answered, “But nothing for the past few days.”

“I see.” Ike glanced around as if looking for someone. “Do we know where Tibarn and Elincia’s group is?”

“No word yet, no,” Skrimir answered, but he didn’t seem particularly concerned. He threw an arm around Ike’s shoulders. “Ike, it’s a waste for us to just sit around waiting! Why don’t you and I have a look inside?” Ike seemed about to refuse, when the creaking of the gate pulled everyone’s attention back toward it. “Wait! What’s happening?” Skrimir demanded (apparently offended that his enemies were coming to him instead of the other way around).

“Get ready for an attack, people!” Naesala ordered, putting himself in front of Leanne.

“Wait, it’s not the enemy!” Micaiah called, running forward and raising both her hands.

The laguz who’d transformed lowered their hackles, and Naesala palmed himself in the forehead as if regretting his hasty declaration. A moment later, the gate was open enough for them to see none other than Tibarn and Caineghis standing in the entrance.

Tibarn had his arms crossed stoically, but then his chest quivered into laughter. “You should see your faces!” he called, bending over.

Janaff and Ulki flapped to his side, and Ulki shook his head, grumbling, “I told you I heard something.”

Elincia, Giffca, Ranulf, Reyson, Lucia, and the rest of the Hawk Army were assembled behind them, and Elincia walked to the front. “Really, Tibarn,” she scolded as she passed. “If you knew they were out here…” Everyone else came pouring through the gate to greet the new arrivals.

“Caineghis?” Ike approached King Gallia (and Soren stayed close). “What are you doing here?”

“In an occurrence I’m told is increasingly common, we heard a voice in our dreams and followed it here,” Caineghis explained, gesturing from Giffca to himself.

“And Tibarn!” Ike rounded on him, “I should have guessed your group would beat everyone here.”

In response, Tibarn cuffed the side of his head affectionately. “You’d be right about that,” he laughed. “We joined up with King Caineghis and mopped up the Disciples around the capital. You’re welcome.”

Elincia approached, shaking her head at his arrogance. “The only people left within the city now are those who have been petrified,” she added. “We’ve been camped out at the base of the tower waiting for everyone.”

Just then, Micaiah skipped into the center of their discussion, and judging by her red eyes, Yune had once again taken over her body. “Good!” she called happily, “I like air-breathers with initiative!”

“Yune!” Ike greeted her. “Here to give us instructions?”

“Good guess!” Yune affirmed, and Soren couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic. She reached up to pat the top of Ike’s head (to his obvious embarrassment). “Everyone, gather around!” she announced. “You’ll all need to hear this.”

Everyone had fallen silent, and now they made a semicircle around Yune, who was standing in the center of the open gate. Kings and queens, laguz and beorc, soldiers and mercenaries—they all waited to hear what the Goddess of Chaos was about to say.

“Good job, everyone!” she began. “All three teams got here, and a little faster than I thought you would, honestly. While you were traveling, I went around recruiting more help, including Mister Caineghis here.” She gestured at the Lion King, who inclined his head respectfully. “Unfortunately, it looks like Ashera had the same idea. By the time I made my way to Goldoa, there was no one there.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Kurthnaga stepped forward, and those in the front made way for him. “Where were they?”

“If you’re saying what I think you’re saying, then we could have a very big problem.” Tibarn ran his hands down either side of his face. “Lots of very big problems.”

“I don’t know for sure Tibarn,” Yune admitted. “There aren’t a whole lot of dragons altogether, but… It looked like everyone in Argos joined Ashera. No one was left in the city.”

“How…how could this be?” Kurthnaga asked. Although he’d finally been regaining his strength these past few days, it all seemed to leave him now.

“I haven’t seen them anywhere else in Tellius so they must already be inside the tower,” Yune continued. “Let’s camp for the night before walking into Ashera’s own home.” With that, she released Micaiah, who staggered and held her head. Sothe was at her side in an instant.

Greetings and welcomes resumed, but they were more subdued now. The Silver Army went to pack up their camp, and the Hawk Army led the Greil Army to the tower.

That afternoon, Ike had tea with Elincia outside her tent, while Geoffrey and Renning sparred in a contest that was supposedly meant to decide which one would serve as her Commander of the Royal Knights. Bastian played the part of judge and announcer, giving humorous commentary and drawing a crowd.

Soren didn’t care about the fight (which was a farce anyway), but he was confused by the presence of the Branded child Amy, who was sitting in Calill’s lap watching the fight with wide eyes. So he lingered until the fight was over and introductions could be made.

Eventually Geoffrey won, and Renning conceded the fight. “But stay your pride, Lord Geoffrey,” Bastian warned, “for no bards will sing of this victory! What honor is there in defeating an ol’ codger for whom eight years have passed and never a day of it could he wipe his own arse?”

“Oh, come off it, Bastian,” Renning complained. He swung an arm over the Count of Fayre’s shoulders as if they were old friends (which, Soren supposed, they were).

Elincia clapped politely. “A good show,” she declared. “Uncle, if you’d come here a moment, there’s someone I want you to meet.” Renning, a man whose face was lined with scars and small wrinkles and whose dark green hair was shocked with bursts of gray, walked proudly to his queen, where he bowed formally.

“Really, Uncle,” Elincia huffed and gestured for him to rise. “This is General Ike...” Soren tuned out their mutual greetings and decided to approach Calill himself.

“Ah, Soren,” she greeted him. “I hope your journey was not too difficult.” Amy was staring at him again, and a moment later, she hopped off her mother’s lap and hugged his legs. Soren was taken aback by her forwardness and froze. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Calill hissed. “Amy can be quite friendly when she’s not being shy.”

“It’s fine,” Soren said simply. Amy smiled up at him.

“This is Soren, Amy,” Calill cooed. “Do you remember him? Can you say hello?”

“Hello,” Amy mumbled. But then her face broke into a smile, showing off a couple missing teeth. She still didn’t release his legs.

“Why is your daughter here?” Soren asked, getting straight to the point.

“Geoffrey found her in Melior after it happened,” Calill answered sadly. “It seems they were the only two people in the entire city to survive…”

“Then Largo…”

Calill nodded. “My big lump,” she said with moisture collecting in her eyes, “I guess he’s more lump-like than ever right now.” She made a sound in her throat as if trying to clear it. “But that’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” She glanced at the tower rising above their heads. “We are going to save Largo and everyone else.” Forcing a smile, she turned back to Amy and held out her hands. “Aren’t we, honey? We’re going to save Daddy and everyone else.”

“Save Daddy!” Amy repeated. She finally let go of Soren to jump into Calill’s arms.

“Do you know why Amy was not turned to stone?” Soren asked simply.

Calill pressed her face into her daughter’s hair and gave a gentle shake of her head. “No…but I’m glad she’s with me.” Soren didn’t want to press further, so he excused himself and left the cluster of tents that comprised miniature Crimea.

He wandered until he found Stefan, and the swordsman smiled when their eyes met. He looked exactly the same, but that was to be expected. “It has been some time,” Stefan greeted him, coming closer. “How are you?”

“Fine,” Soren answered reflexively. “Or, as fine as I can be given the circumstances.”

“Still traveling with the same mercenaries, I see,” Stefan observed. “How long do you plan to stay among them?”

Soren narrowed his eyes. “Plans are a bit pointless now, aren’t they?”

Stefan shrugged. “I suppose time will tell.”

“Only if someone is left alive to tell it.”

“Ah, I see your personality hasn’t improved at all,” he joked.

“On the contrary.” Soren crossed his arms. “I’ve been told I have become quite approachable since the Mad King’s War. Even Skrimir likes me. In fact, a little girl just hugged me, so at least I don’t scare away young children.”

Stefan laughed (which was the intended effect). “I see. How wrong I was.”

“If you have a moment, there is something I would like to talk to you about,” Soren continued, expending with the small talk.

“Has it to do with the little girl you mentioned?” Stefan asked in return, gesturing for Soren to lead.

“You’ve met Amy?” Soren asked, walking away from camp.

“I haven’t had the pleasure,” Stefan explained, “But I sensed her as soon as we arrived.”

“Strange that she survived, isn’t it?”

“No, I do not believe it is,” he replied contemplatively. “On the contrary, I believe our kind was completely spared a stony fate.”

“Why would Ashera do that?” Soren asked, although he’d suspected the same thing after seeing Amy.

“I had an interesting conversation with Yune just now that may shed some light on the subject,” Stefan answered. They were still in the camp, but there were fewer people here.

“What do you mean ‘just now’?”

“She returned to Micaiah’s body for a short while,” Stefan answered, “and I was able to catch a word with her before she left again. She is quite fascinated by us, you know.”

“Why?” Soren asked. They were now far enough from the last tent that he considered it safe to talk about the Branded freely.

“Well, it seems Yune had no idea that we even existed, so it stands to reason Ashera did not know either. That may be why she passed us by in her first extermination.”

“Lucky us,” Soren grumbled. “So the rest of the colony…”

“Living, breathing, moving,” Stefan reported, “But unwilling to join me. I set out to find other survivors and eventually met Yune’s Silver Army.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Soren muttered. “So, what did you tell her?”

“Everything I know,” Stefan answered brightly. “She seemed quite eager to learn. She claims she and Ashera did not create beorc or laguz but that she developed alongside them, from the time when beorc and laguz ancestors were one and the same. She claims we remind her of those ancestors and that we give her hope for what the world could become.”

“Did you tell her the Branded are considered crimes against the goddess?” Soren dared ask, curious to know what the answer would be.

Stefan chuckled. “I did, and she said such an idea was—and I quote—‘silly’.” He laughed again. “It was quite refreshing to hear.”

Soren shook his head. “How can she not know…” he growled, “She’s living in the body of one.”

“Yes, I noticed the same thing,” Stefan agreed. “Yune claims she did not realize what Micaiah was when she made her home in the girl’s body. She merely sensed that Micaiah was the only person who could sing the galdr of release and serve as her vessel. She did not learn until after the fact that the body she’d adopted was neither laguz or beorc.”

Soren shook his head in confusion. “Why was Micaiah able to sing the galdr anyway? Who exactly is she?”

“I haven’t a clue,” he replied simply, “and neither does she, according to what Yune said.”

“That’s unhelpful.”

After a moment, Stefan sighed, “I do wish my friends in the desert had come to see her. I think it would do them good to see a Branded at the center of everything.”

Soren gave Stefan a curious glance. “If you don’t agree with their isolationism, why do you live there?”

Stefan tossed his head. “It is good to have friends.”

“Well, your friends might as well be statues if they’re not going to help us,” Soren shot back. “I wouldn’t count on Ashera passing over them a second time.”

“I agree,” Stefan said softly. “Let us both fight to ensure that does not happen.” With that, he led the way back to camp, and Soren went with him. He had gotten all of the information he wanted—not that there was much to be had.

When night fell, the Tower of Guidance didn’t dim at all. “Yeah…” Tibarn said, when faced with everyone’s glares, “Maybe not the best place for camp, but at least the location’s convenient.”

Soren was scoping out the shadowiest places, wondering if he would be able to sleep better if he moved his tent into one of them, when a familiar presence tickled the farthest reach of his senses. Rather than disregard it as a byproduct of his tired mind, Soren pursued. Whoever they were, they must have known they were being followed, because they ran. Soren started running too. He recognized this presence now—and he didn’t like it.

Since Soren assumed his prey would be circling back to the Tower of Guidance, he raced to cut him off. “Nasir!” Soren hissed when the man appeared in the tower’s light. They were currently in the back of the building, where there shouldn’t have been an entrance, but a rope dangled from a high window.

Nasir froze and raised his hands in surrender, but his face didn’t appear remotely concerned. “Ah, Soren.”

Soren didn’t know why he’d smothered his own voice instead of crying out. He should be trying to subdue Nasir and alert everyone to his presence. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, still not raising his voice. He had his tome in hand, but he wasn’t confident he’d be a match for the dragon if he transformed.

“Simply visiting family,” he said, with hands still raised. “We are on the eve of battle. What kind of grandfather would I be if I did not try to discourage Ena from fighting?”

“And how did she reply?” Soren asked through gritted teeth.

“She and Prince Kurthnaga insist on opposing King Dheginsea,” Nasir sighed. “So I am returning, my mission failed.”

“Why return?” Soren asked incredulously. “Ike forgave you, trusted you. How can you betray him again?”

Nasir’s hands fell, apparently giving up the charade of surrender. “My place is at my King’s side. I cannot defy him any more than I could defy Ashera herself.”

“Exactly,” Soren returned. “You can. We’re all doing it. Join us instead.”

Nasir shook his head, and although his face was cast in shadow by the glowing tower, he looked terribly sad. “I could, but it would be pointless,” he said. “We survived the first judgement, but we will not survive the second. With the time we have been given, we should be choosing who to die beside and go bravely and peacefully from this life. Our wars, our mortal flaws, and all of our poor choices that have led us to this end… My own included.”

“How can you give up?” Soren demanded, surprised by his own anger.

“My King and my people shall die, but we shall be beside our goddess when it happens,” Nasir replied. “Die in whatever way you find comfort, Soren.” With that, he turned and continued walking to the tower.

Soren considered attacking Nasir from behind, but what then? If he didn’t kill him with the first hit, Nasir could transform, crush him, and escape before anyone came to see what the commotion was about. “Ike is entering that tower tomorrow,” Soren finally said, and although his voice was low, he knew Nasir could hear him. “And it’s going to hurt him to see you.”

He didn’t reply.

“I’m going with him,” Soren added, “And if I see you on the field of battle, I will kill you myself.”

Still Nasir said nothing; he’d reached the rope. Soren considered cutting it with wind magic, but he couldn’t bring himself to try. He’d always hated Nasir, but Ike had always liked him. For that, he would let the old sea captain go.

Soren ate dinner with the rest of the mercenaries, and during the meal Ike told him how Volke had returned the fifty thousand gold from the Mad King’s War.

“That’s uncharacteristically generous of him,” Soren noted.

“Well, actually it was twenty thousand,” Ike amended. “He said he spent some of it.”

Titania laughed. “Now that makes more sense. But it is still a great boon to our preparations. Now we can pay Aimee and the others for supplies rather than convincing them to help us on credit.”

Soren decided not to point out the fact that money had little to no value anymore. They were surrounded by the wealthiest houses in all of Tellius, all empty now, but they were camping out in tents on the street instead. If they failed to defeat Ashera tomorrow, they would die. If they succeeded, the world would still be facing a great loss of life, mass confusion and hysteria, and a famine in the middle of winter. Money would do little to alleviate the coming disaster.

Just then, Caineghis approached their campfire, and conversation quieted. “Your Majesty,” Titania greeted him.

“What can we do for you?” Ike asked, setting down his plate.

“Ike, I have something to give to you,” Caineghis replied. Giffca materialized behind him, holding a poleax. He proffered the handle.

“Hey, this is…” Ike got to his feet. Titania gasped and covered her mouth.

“It’s called Urvan, if I remember correctly,” Caineghis explained. “I borrowed it from your father’s grave.”

“Why?” Ike asked, obviously mystified.

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Caineghis admitted, lifting and lowering his massive shoulders. “But I felt a sudden urge to visit Greil’s grave before embarking on our journey. When I told Giffca my idea for a little side trip, he said he thought the same thing.”

“I believe we were guided to your father’s grave by a divine message,” Giffca added.

“When I saw Greil’s axe, I was convinced I had to take it to you. I felt that’s what he would have wanted,” Caineghis concluded.

After hesitating a moment, Ike wrapped his fingers around the shaft, pulling it out of Giffca’s hands. “…Maybe he and my mother are looking over us from somewhere else,” Ike proposed in a soft voice. Mist stood up and leaned against his arm. Reaching out, she touched the axe head, which was pitted and worn with age.

“I can fix it with the Hammerne staff,” she promised. “I’ll make it just like it was.”

“Alright,” Ike said decidedly, raising his eyes to Caineghis’s. “It’s my father’s, so it’s only right that I take it.” Caineghis nodded and stepped back. “But that makes it mine to give to whom I see fit.” The king cocked his head in surprise. “Titania,” Ike turned to her, “Would you wield this in my father’s name? I think he would want you to have it. I think he’d know you’d take good care of it.”

Titania stood on what were suddenly shaky legs, while the rest of the mercenaries watched. Ike dropped the shaft into her hands, and her face contorted into a happy grimace as she seemed to hold back tears. “I will carry it with honor,” she finally managed to say. “Thank you.”

Caineghis squeezed Ike’s and Titania’s shoulders with either hand. “An excellent choice, Ike,” he purred. “Captain Titania, you are truly a remarkable beorc and a true friend. Greil valued you dearly; I know that. And you achieved much in bridging the divide between the people of Gallia and Crimea. I do not believe I ever thanked you for that.”

“No, sir, please.” Titania shook her head. “I was but one of many knights in the exchange program.”

“You made King Ramon’s ideals your own,” Caineghis pressed. “You have done much for the people of Tellius.”

“It’s true, Titania, you have!” Mist chirruped, giving her a hug.

“To Captain Titania!” Boyd cheered, raising his drink.

“To Captain Titania!” everyone echoed. Even Soren raised his cup, because if he was honest, he never would have been able to do his job without Titania doing hers.

“We will leave you to your meal,” Caineghis dismissed himself, and he and Giffca returned to the cluster of tents that comprised miniature Gallia.

Ike and Titania sat back down, and Gatrie moved so she would have enough room to cradle the axe head in her lap. Mist ran off to get the Hammerne staff, and Rhys started the group in a round of storytelling about Titania’s most daring exploits. When it was Ike’s turn, he told the story of his first mission and how Titania had guided him while also letting him take command. Soren had been with the Mercenaries of Fayre back then, but he’d heard the story so many times, he felt like he’d been there.

After dinner, each section of the camp broke up and mingled among the rest. There were games, stories, sparring, jokes, and songs both joyous and solemn. But even when people were laughing, it didn’t seem like they were lying to themselves. They all knew what was coming, and they were an excited for it and as proud of their progress as they were scared of what was to come. They were among friends, and they were content. Those who were lucky enough to be among family and loved ones kept them close as the evening hours ticked by.

Soren may not have had many friends, but the unusual atmosphere wasn’t lost on him. He stayed near the mercenaries’ campsite, listening to the conversations and participating in the games that passed through. After a couple hours, however, Pelleas came over, and his expression was uneasy. “You are Sir Soren, correct?” the young king asked. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Soren assessed him and didn’t immediately reply.

“I wanted to apologize for any injury I may have caused you in our battle,” Pelleas continued, seeming flustered. “I am glad you appear well now. I am glad we are all on the same side.”

Soren doubted Pelleas had come over just to convey these pleasantries, so he got to his feet. “Fine, we can talk,” he said, walking away from the fire where everyone was gathered. When he judged he was a safe distance away, he stopped. “What is it?”

“Well, actually, I was just hoping,” he stumbled to say, “Just hoping I could get to know you better…”

“Why would you want to do that?” (He, for one, had no interest in getting to know Pelleas better.)

“So, you’re not a Spirit Charmer?” Pelleas stated suddenly.

“We have already had this conversation.”

“It wasn’t much of a conversation,” King Daein replied, trying to make his voice light with a laugh. “We were in the middle of a battle.”

“No, I am not a Spirit Charmer,” Soren sighed.

“No, I didn’t think so.” Pelleas shook his head. “But I wanted to make sure… I entered my pact when I was thirteen,” he said suddenly, “I was living in an orphanage, and all the other children had been cruel to me for so long. I thought having power would help, but then they were just afraid of me.” He gave an awkward, self-deprecating chuckle. “I taught myself magic, and eventually Izuka found and trained me. He was the one who told me…who I was.”

Soren stared at Pelleas, trying to communicate his disinterest. “Fascinating,” he finally said.

“So, what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Well, I was just wondering if you’d experienced something similar.” He lifted his bangs again, to show off his mark of Spirit’s Protection. “Were you bullied?”

Soren released a bark of laughter. “What?”

“Were you an orphan too? Where did you grow up? How old are you?” Pelleas asked in a rush.

Soren took a step back, suddenly uncomfortable by this line of questioning. “Say what you mean to say.”

Pelleas shook his head and seemed to recede into himself. “I’m sorry. I am sure I’m being terribly rude.”

“You’re a king,” Soren replied, “You can afford to be rude.”

Pelleas took a long, steadying breath. “Let me try again… After I made a pact with the spirits of darkness, many people distrusted and abused me because they thought my mark was something else. They mistook it for something called a Brand, which appears on the flesh of children born of laguz and beorc… Is that what you are?”

Soren’s skin felt suddenly cold and clammy, and he wondered if Pelleas’s barrage of random questions had been less painful than this. But then he took a deep breath and reminded himself that nothing mattered anymore. So what if Pelleas knew the truth? Either one or both of them could be dead after tomorrow, so what did it matter? “…Yes,” Soren finally answered. “Yes, I am, and yes, I was mistreated. Yes, I was an orphan, but no, I was not raised in an orphanage like you. They wouldn’t accept someone like me there.”

Pelleas sucked in his lips and stared as if mesmerized by Soren’s every word. His reaction was disturbing, but now that Soren had begun, he decided to keep going:

“I grew up in Crimea. Before that I was in Gallia. Before that, Daein. I am twenty-five years old, or at least, I should be soon.” He shrugged slightly as if to say it didn’t matter. “If you’re also an orphan, you should know birthdays are arbitrary. I’ve always thought of myself being born around this time, when one year turns to the next… This is stupid. Why do you care?” 

“No, please- I mean, thank you. Thank you for telling me,” Pelleas hurried to say. His strange entranced expression now turned into an easy smile. “You know, we’re the same age,” he laughed, “I wouldn’t have guess by looking at you.”

Soren scowled. “If you’ve researched the Branded, you should know why.”

“Yes, of course,” Pelleas rushed to say, “I’ve heard rumors, and I’ve tried to learn everything I could recently. Did you know there is a great collection of books here in Sienne?” He gestured in the direction of the Mainal Cathedral. “I’ve been studying while we awaited the Silver and Greil Armies to arrive.”

“Fascinating,” Soren said again, trying to distance himself from Pelleas’s fanaticism. He took a step back. “If that’s all you wanted to know, I’ll be going.”

“Right, right,” Pelleas bobbed his head. “Thank you.”

Soren hesitated again, taken aback by his strange behavior. “I trust you won’t go telling anyone about this,” he said suddenly. “It is a private matter.”

“Right, of course,” Pelleas promised. “Thank you again.”

Shaking his head, Soren decided to cut his losses and take his leave of King Daein. Walking back to the campfire, he tried to pretend the conversation had never happened. He wondered if insanity could be inherited after all, because although this kid was nothing like Ashnard, he seemed to have some sort of madness in him.

After staying at the campfire a while longer, Soren retreated to his private tent (which he’d successfully kicked Gatrie out of back in Tanas, when they’d acquired more). He had pitched it in the shadow of a nearby building to avoid the tower’s glow without being too far from everyone else in case of emergency. He wasn’t the only one to lay claim to this particular shadowy courtyard, but his senses told him the other tents were empty now. Everyone else was still enjoying themselves (or at least the company of their friends) around the fires. It was relatively cold over here, but Soren didn’t mind. He was just tired. The activity of so many people was exhausting after spending weeks with the Greil Army alone. No matter the challenges tomorrow would bring, for now, Soren would rest.

He was awoken sometime later (although he could not tell how long), and he immediately realized he wasn’t alone. Someone was sitting just outside the entrance to his tent, and that someone was Ike. Crawling forward, Soren pushed the tent flap aside and yawned. “Ike, what is it?” He glanced around. “…It doesn’t seem we are being attacked.”

Ike shook himself into wakefulness and yawned too. “Yeah, no, we’re not being attacked.”

“What’s wrong then?”

“Oh, nothing’s wrong,” Ike was quick to deny.

“Why are you sitting out here?”

“I just finished talking to Micaiah—Micaiah, not Yune. I think it was the first real conversation I’ve ever had with her,” Ike explained, although it wasn’t quite an answer.

“You can come in,” Soren decided, scooching back into the dark. He found a lantern and lit it with a quick fire spell while Ike pulled himself inside. “Well, what did Micaiah have to say?” he asked when the glow illuminated them both.

Ike wrapped his arms around his knees. “I told you that I would tell you if anyone ever ask me about you, so I am.”

“Micaiah asked about me?” Soren repeated. “She asked if I was Branded?”

Ike frowned. “Do you like that word?” he asked suddenly. “Isn’t there another word I can use?”

Soren stared at him in confusion. “There is… But ‘Parentless’ is even worse, if you ask me, so let us continue with ‘Branded’ for efficiency’s sake. Now what were you saying?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Ike shook his head. “Well, I think she already knew; and she knew I knew what she was, because she’d guessed that you would’ve told me. I just confirmed what she was saying. I hope that’s okay.”

“Denying would have been pointless,” Soren said simply, then adding: “And I wouldn’t want to make you a liar. It is fine.”

Ike seemed satisfied with this and smiled.

“So what did you and Micaiah talk about?” Soren asked, because he was genuinely curious.

“Well, Sothe was there when I walked in on them, but he disappeared fast. I think he was embarrassed,” Ike breathed a small laugh. “Then Micaiah told me how they met, how they used to live, and how they came to be where they are now.”

“Sounds riveting,” Soren returned.

“Remember when we met Sothe?” Ike asked, “He was stowing away on our ship because he was looking for someone and wanted to go to Begnion. Well, Micaiah was the person he was looking for. And she was looking for him too. It sounds like they’d already been together a while at that point.”

“How poignant,” Soren said, not wanting to be too scathing with his disinterest since it was Ike.

“She’s older than him, even though they look like they’re the same age now,” Ike continued. “I could tell that by the way she was talking. And when I walked in, they had their hands together like this.” He reached out for Soren’s hand, and he let him have it. Ike lifted it, and they each splayed their fingers until they were lined up (more or less), despite the difference in size. “Like this…”

Soren didn’t pull away, because the pressure of Ike’s fingers and palm against his own felt warm, solid, and comforting. If they were turned to stone right now, Soren wouldn’t mind, and for a moment, he understood what Nasir had been saying about using the time left to decide whom to die with.

But then Ike dropped his hand, and the thought disappeared. It was better to live and fight beside Ike than to die beside him. It was better to face the end of the world together.

“Micaiah tried to leave Sothe,” Ike finally broke the silence with a quiet voice. “That’s why they were separated. She didn’t want him to realize how slowly she aged. She didn’t want him to know what she was, so she abandoned him in Crimea… You would never do that, would you?”

Soren didn’t answer immediately, and he couldn’t meet Ike’s eye. But he knew he had to be honest. “That used to be my plan,” he admitted. “But after you accepted me, I thought I would stay after all, no matter what the others thought. But, deep down, I know that it can’t last forever. The Greil Mercenaries can’t last forever. Not for me.”

Ike’s hand found his again—this time gently grasping his wrist, where his hand rested on the blanket. Soren’s eyes shot to his in surprise, but Ike wasn’t looking at him. His gaze was fixed on the ground, and he looked sad. “Micaiah said she was thinking of going to some far-off place after all of this is over. But after we’d finished talking, she decided to stay in Daein after all. She decided to stay with Sothe and help make Daein better.”

Soren said nothing, waiting for Ike to continue. He still hadn’t let go.

“But, I can’t get the idea of that far-off place out of my mind,” he finally said, looking up as if he could see the sky—or something else—beyond the tent canvas. “When all of this is over…” A tear collecting in his eye spilled over, and Soren couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Ike didn’t cry.

And apparently Ike didn’t think so either. Releasing Soren’s wrist, he wiped his face and grunted to clear his throat. “Never mind,” he said. “I have the Greil Mercenaries. That’s all I need. And the Greil Mercenaries will always have you—as long as you want to be a part of it. Please don’t slip away and try to spare us. We don’t want to be spared. We’re your friends, and we want you.” With that, Ike stood as far as the tent would allow (which wasn’t much) and left. “Good night, Soren,” he bid him before disappearing, but Soren remained awake, playing the conversation through his mind, long after Ike had gone.


	22. CHAPTER 88: REBIRTH

Soren woke early, washed and dressed himself in his best clothes, ate a quick breakfast, strapped on his knife belt, and slid his tome (which was packed full of fresh spells) into the holster on his hip. Then he proceeded to the courtyard in front of the Tower of Guidance to hear Yune’s announcement with everyone else.

“You should prepare for what you may see when you enter the tower!” she began. “I have no doubt Ashera has made it bigger on the inside than the outside, and there is no telling how many troops she will have guarding the lower levels. The higher you go, the more powerful her influence becomes. But you will have to resist her! Ashera is the goddess of the past, of memory. You must hold on to your presence of mind or you will become lost…” Despite the fact that everyone was hanging on her every word, Yune became suddenly distracted. She appeared to be staring through the assembled troops instead of at them. “Oh no!” she suddenly cried out.

“Yune, what is it? What’s happening?” Ike demanded, stepping forward.

Everyone started glancing around and up at the sky.

“Turn around! Defensive positions!” Tibarn ordered, and they all obeyed.

Soren ran to the edge of the group, and from here he could see white and purple lights tessellating across streets, yards, gardens, terraces, and roofs around them. The crawling lights went on as far as he could see. Disciples of Order were being transported—a lot of them.

“This isn’t good…” muttered Caineghis nearby. Giffca put a hand on his arm as if to steady them both.

A moment later, the lights disappeared and in their place were perfect rows and columns of golden-armored soldiers in a vast semicircle around the Tower of Guidance. Some had been teleported on top of last night’s camp, crushing tents and charred cookfires underfoot. Others appeared on the balconies and rooftops of mansions and halls of state. Still others appeared in gardens and even in the middle of fountains and water fixtures. The perfect geometry of their deployment disregarded the terrain beneath their feet, and neither did the Disciples themselves seem to care. Not a single one moved or made a sound, and although Soren was looking right at them, he couldn’t feel their presence with his Branded sense. Something was very wrong.

“These soldiers…” Yune said, pushing her way to the front. “You’ve killed them already. They’ve been reborn in flesh but not spirit.”

At this declaration, a shudder of confusion and awe rolled through the ranks of Yune’s Chosen. Soren peered closer and saw the pegasus knight Catalena in one of the rows nearest him. Her face was blank but otherwise looked healthy—radiant even. She certainly didn’t look dead. Although she was still wearing cavalry armor cut in the Holy Guard’s style, she wasn’t riding a pegasus now. In fact, none of these soldiers were mounted.

“Brought back from the dead…” Sanaki breathed in disbelief.

“A miracle of the Goddess…” Elincia seconded.

“A blasphemy, you mean!” Caineghis growled. “How could a Goddess of Order violate the most fundamental law of nature?”

“Philosophy later, everyone!” Ike scolded, drawing his sword. He walked forward to stand beside Yune at the head of her tiny army. “They’re about to attack!”

Although the Disciples had merely stared at them unmoving until now, they started to run a moment after Ike’s declaration. They remained silent as they charged, without offering a single shout, roar, challenge, or insult. Their faces lacked emotion, reaction, or desire. They merely raised their weapons, and ran.

After sending a few Elwind spells into the nearest Disciples, Soren fell to the rear, letting Caineghis and Giffca—two massive lions, one scarlet red, one pitch black—take care of the first row. Soren knew he would be most useful if he cast Blizzard, Meteor, and Bolting spells to help thin the enemy ranks from afar. There were at least two thousand Disciples and yet only sixty-five capable fighters among Yune’s Chosen, so Soren tried to make every spell count.

Meanwhile Ike was running around giving orders, trying to break the group into platoons that could function as teams. Fortunately those who’d travelled together these past couple months already knew how to work together, and they easily coalesced into the formations Ike called out.

Since he was in the back, Soren glanced over his shoulder to check on the non-fighting members of their group. The merchants were pressed into the threshold of the tower’s entrance. Daniel was holding Amy, and Jorge was trying to distract her so she wouldn’t look at the battle. The veiled woman in a black dress, whom Soren had learned to be Pelleas’s mother and the dowager queen of Daein, was curled up in the corner, apparently ignoring everything.

Soren was surprised Ena and Kurthnaga weren’t there, and while chanting another Blizzard spell, he tried to locate them. It didn’t take long, however, because a moment later, they were both towering over the heads of everyone else—especially Kurthnaga. Although Ena’s dragon form stood about twenty feet tall, Kurthnaga’s was pushing thirty; and his wings and tail were much larger. With blood-curdling roars, the dragons stomped to the front, where everyone made way. Soren was pleasantly surprised the Dragon Prince was finally willing to fight. Yune’s Chosen wouldn’t have had much hope of defeating the Disciples without him.

However, he did seem to be holding himself back. While Soren watched, Kurthnaga and Ena aimed their breath (his a blue beam, and hers a red flame) on the Disciples in the street. The ground split with trenches and craters, and the Disciples standing there were burned to a crisp. Kurthnaga was able to kill several soldiers with each blast, but he was clearly avoiding firing upon any buildings. After a moment’s thought, Soren realized this was probably due to the stone people inside.

Eventually the battle spread out enough that Soren could no longer target distant Disciples without hitting his own allies. Staying in the rear was useless, so he flipped away from his long-distance spells and ran forward. On the way, he cast Tornado as a layer of wind armor, and when he reached a place where Disciples ran at him from three sides at once, he slid to a halt and started releasing offensive spells.

When his first Bolganone spell devoured a Disciple’s legs and he didn’t move again, Soren was relieved to see that these reanimated opponents could die a second time. Next, he cast a series of Elwind spells, clipping off enemies’ helmets, breast plates, pauldrons, and cuisses by breaking the gusts into carefully-targeted blades that sought out the leather straps holding the blessed armor together. When the armor fell away, the magic went with it, and this allowed his comrades to charge in and strike their vulnerable bodies. There was little he could do about the chainmail (which was likely also enchanted), but it appeared merely removing the plate armor made a considerable difference. Nephenee’s lance found a Disciple’s lung. Astrid’s arrow found one’s neck. Heather’s knife found one’s femoral artery. Zihark’s sword cut one’s spine. Mordecai’s jaws crushed one’s brain.

All the while, Soren was running, rolling, ducking, and dodging to avoid the Disciples’ own lances, arrows, daggers, swords, and axes. The Tornado around him blocked what he couldn’t avoid, saving him repeatedly, but he had to constantly funnel power to it. If he became distracted and let it weaken, the blades found his flesh instead.

Finding himself nearly surrounded and with his left arm already broken from the bite of an axe, Soren started retreating. However, he soon realized there was nowhere to retreat to. The battle was all around him, and the only safe bastion left was the entrance to the tower, where the merchants were cowering under the protection of what appeared to be Sanaki, Naesala, Leanne, Sigrun, and Tanith. Sanaki was incanting powerful Bolganone, Cymbeline, and even Rexflame spells, conjuring walls of fire and lava to incinerate the Disciples who got too close. Meanwhile, her flying companions were distracting the archers and eliminating them before they could hurt the empress.

Soren couldn’t watch much longer, and even if he contemplated trying to help them, he was too far away. He was barely surviving as he was, and his painful, unwieldly arm was making things even more difficult.

While holding his tome in his right hand and keeping his feet moving to avoid becoming impaled by the Disciples’ lances, Soren switched to Elthunder and Thoron spells. He willed the electricity to jump from one Disciple to another, trying to kill, incapacitate, or at least stun as many enemies as possible with each incantation. This was in an effort to prevent himself from being completely surrounded, but no matter how many bodies Soren dropped, there were always more. The Disciples kept coming. They pushed forward, separating the survivors from one another. They demonstrated strategy and expert use of their weapons despite the fact that their faces remained blank and unthinking.

When a large legion of archers approached, Soren released all of the thunder spells he’d been holding but kept his Tornado shield. All at once, they fell in a spattering of bolts on the soldiers around him, but Soren wasn’t even aiming anymore. He’d immediately begun chanting the words to Rexcalibur, knowing it would be the only spell that could save him and the people around him. “*-Ravage all you encompass!*” he finished, and the prism of freezing winds encased a dozen or so archers at the center of the formation. Some of the ones on the outside managed to fire their bows before the spell exploded, but the gyrating winds expanded, slicing everything within their reach. Heads, arms, legs, bows, quivers, and pieces of armor flew in every direction. Soren funneled his strength into the attack, willing the furthest ring to remain deadly sharp until the spell faded. When all was done, most of the regiment was dead.

Panting hard, Soren tried to utter his next spell as clearly as possible. He didn’t have time to assess his handiwork. He didn’t have time to be grateful that his plan had succeeded. He didn’t have time to breath or slow down or worry about the amount of magic he was expending. There were simply too many enemies; he had to keep fighting.

A few minutes later, however, Soren finally had some room to breathe, because Micaiah strode into this part of the courtyard. She was walking without fear, but she was clearly enraged. Looking at her face, Soren was surprised to see her eyes were still red. This wasn’t Micaiah at all; it was Yune. She held a tome in her hand, but she wasn’t saying any words. She merely cast out her hands and obliterated the Disciples with spears of white light, which instantly melted whatever they touched.

“Close your eyes,” Yune ordered, and Soren clamped them shut. Whether Skrimir or the others nearby also obeyed, he didn’t know. But he hoped they did, because the light shone straight through his eyelids and he had to smother his face in his sleeve. He felt a strange warmth, and when he opened his eyes again, all of the Disciples in a twenty-yard radius were lying on the ground, their golden armor melted into their disfigured bodies. Yune walked on.

After getting over his shock, Soren proceeded in a different direction and continued to fight. Soon he encountered more survivors fighting more Disciples. Pelleas was here, turning his waves of dark magic on the impassive, golden-armored soldiers. Lethe was slashing and biting, jumping off of the walls of buildings, running in tight circles, and doing whatever she had to do to reach the Disciples’ weak points. In an adjacent alleyway, Lyre was doing the same thing. The blonde archer from Daein was kneeling on a nearby roof, firing arrows into any new Disciples that tried to enter the street. Soren stopped here to help, falling back on wind magic despite the close quarters. When everyone was dead, he, Pelleas, Lethe, and Lyre ran to the mouth of the street, and the archer jogged across the shingles.

Soren hadn’t seen Ike since the beginning of the battle, but when he next crossed the path of a Greil Mercenary, he was sure to ask.

“I saw him a minute ago,” Mia answered, grunting while she blocked an enemy sword with his own. “He was looking for some sort of commander, but I don’t think there is one. I mean, _ugh_ , it’s not like they’re relaying orders, right? _Argh!_ ” Finally catching some leverage, Mia disarmed and disemboweled her opponent.

“I agree,” Soren replied, “Ashera must be controlling them all.”

“Then I really hope that hurt her.” Mia spat on the corpse of the twice-dead soldier.

“I would not count on it.” With that, Soren jogged away, and Mia came with him.

“Your arm looks pretty bad,” she said, cast him a sideways glance.

Soren had to agree it did; it also felt pretty bad. It was bleeding, swelling, and every jostle likely exacerbated the break, but these things were so obvious that he didn’t reply.

“C’mon, I think Mist is over here!” She pulled him into a side street, and Soren knew they were circling back around to the tower. Before long, Mist came into view. She appeared to have turned this alley into a small triage unit. Rafiel was having an arrow removed from the base of his neck while Nailah guarded the entrance. Stefan was also here, applying elixir to a wound of his own. Soren leaned against the wall to wait for Mist, and Mia ran off again with a quick farewell.

“Have any of you seen Ike?” Soren asked while he waited.

Stefan shook his head.

“A little while ago,” Mist answered without looking away from Rafiel. “He was fighting Oliver again.”

“He was brought back as well?” Soren shook his head in annoyance. “How many times is that man going to have to die?”

“He died pretty quick this time,” Mist returned conversationally. “He was wielding a sword. It was pretty silly to watch.”

This gave Soren pause. “I had noticed there weren’t any mages among these Disciples.”

“No stave healers either,” she added. The green glow from her own staff faded, and Rafiel touched the fresh pink skin near his neck.

“Thank you, Mist,” he said softly.

“Any time, Rafiel. Now, please rest a moment. Queen Nailah’s keeping us safe here.” The heron gave a small nod, and Mist finally turned toward Soren.

“That would make sense if they cannot speak,” Soren thought aloud. “If they don’t have healers, perhaps we can win this after all.”

“Unless Ashera just brings them all back again…” Mist replied, surprising him with the pessimism in her voice.

“Unless that,” Soren agreed and hoped it wasn’t the case. While Mist attended his arm, he considered the consequences of this morning’s ambush. If Ashera could regenerate her Disciples repeatedly, Yune’s Army would have to split into two groups: one to guard the entrance to the tower and one to fight their way to the top. Depending on how long it took for Ashera to revive them, there might be time to make fortifications around the base. But so much was still unknown. They were supposed to already be in the tower by now, not running around Sienne fighting undead soldiers. Even Yune hadn’t seen this coming.

“All set!” Mist sighed happily, and Soren moved his arm up and down, bending and unbending his elbow to test that everything still worked. A moment later Boyd and Lucia stumbled in, both bleeding but holding each other up. “Boyd!” Mist cried in alarm and rushed toward them. Soren moved around the new party, vacating the alleyway.

“Ike?” he asked Nailah hopefully.

She seemed to understand his question and sniffed the air a moment. Then she tossed her head to the right. “That way.”

Soren nodded his thanks and ran.

When Soren reached them, Ike was fighting from below while Elincia fought above. Geoffrey was on their right and Renning on their left, both mounted and keeping their horses moving as they evaded the Disciples’ long lances. Soren turned to his fire spells, casting Bolganone and Elfire to help break up and burn the Disciples trying to surround them.

As the minutes ticked by, Soren realized the battlefield was changing. He’d become used to the constant flow of soldiers, but finally it was starting to let up. There was more room to see what was happening, although there was less room to move due to the bodies on the ground. Soren could hardly believe they were winning.

Kurthnaga was in the sky, and his shadow raced over the battle. He was firing as he flew, and he seemed to be less careful now. His breath grazed buildings, and rubble fell into streets and gardens. When he landed farther down the street, he stomped and swatted Disciples, and his tail whipped into buildings behind him. Soren didn’t mind if he was careless (so long as he didn’t entirely lose control and start hurting his allies).

Returning his attention to his immediate surroundings, Soren was relieved to find that being distracted was no longer a life-threatening mistake. He wasn’t being beset from all directions. He could look around, catch his breath between spells, and aim them more carefully. He fought his way to Ike’s side and stayed there, casting Elwind and Tornado, until the battle finally came to an end.

When the Disciples stopped coming, Yune’s Chosen regrouped in front of the tower. There were dead Disciples everywhere and their campsite was in ruins, but at least none of the dead were rising again. As the royals took a headcount of their subjects and friends, they reported that no lives had been lost. However, many people were injured, and the army’s healers were treating them now—except for Micaiah, who was nowhere to be seen. 

Ike walked around looking for her, and Soren helped search. But then Titania approached and jerked her thumb over her shoulder at where Sothe was grumpily sitting with his arms crossed next to the half-standing remains of a tent. Micaiah’s bent back could be seen on the other side.

“Uh, I’ll go talk to her,” Ike said, setting out in that direction.

“Is she Micaiah, or Yune still?” Soren asked Titania, but she just shook her head. “I couldn’t get a good look. Yune, I think. That must be why Sothe is not with her.”

Soren watched Ike gingerly approach the goddess and decided he wanted to hear what she had to say. Even if everyone trusted Yune now, Soren was still suspicious. He couldn’t forget what he’d seen a child, and watching her lay waste to her enemies using Micaiah’s body had been too familiar a sight to ignore. He jogged in their direction, while Titania hissed: “Soren, be careful! Don’t spook the poor girl.” (Soren thought that was strange advice for dealing with a goddess.)

“I-I shouldn’t have done that,” Yune was saying with Micaiah’s voice when he approached. “I shouldn’t have fought.”

“You were a big help on the battlefield,” was Ike’s reply, but his eyes slid to Soren’s and he raised his hand in a warning gesture. Soren stopped.

Yune sniffed and wiped her nose. “It was unfair to Micaiah. I put too much of myself in her. I could have hurt her.”

“Aren’t you always inside her?” Ike asked in confusion.

Yune wiped her nose again. “Not entirely.” She reached out a hand, and the bird that was always hanging around her flew from a bit of wreckage and alighted on her finger before hopping to her shoulder. “I only give her as much as she can take.”

Ike nodded as if this made sense, but Soren doubted he understood. Soren didn’t even understand. “So why did you fight?” Ike asked, changing the subject.

Yune buried her head in her hands. “I was just so- so-” She started to cry again.

“Are you going to be alright?” Ike asked, lowering himself to one knee in front of her. “Those dead soldiers really got to you, didn’t they?”

“…We can’t win,” Yune said, dropping her arms. “All we do is kill the flesh, but she will just bring the flesh back… We need more time… No, there is no more time! Everyone else will be turned to stone…and I will be lonely forever. There’s nothing more that I can do! I’ve failed… I’ve failed.”

“Yune!” Ike scolded. “Get ahold of yourself!” He grabbed her head between his hands, forcing her to look at him. Soren thought manhandling a goddess was probably a bad idea, but he didn’t stop him.

“Ouch! My ears!” Yune complained, wrenching her head side to side. Ike let go. “Wh-what was that for? You big bully! Who do you think I am?” She scrambled to her feet, and Ike stood too.

“Yune, the Goddess of Chaos,” Ike answered. “…The warmhearted being whose courage and loves gives us the will to go on.”

“Ike...” Yune stared at him for a moment, and this time, when she wiped her eyes, they stayed dry. “Thank you.”

Ike stepped back, and his gaze fell on Soren again. He seemed to take a small, steadying breath and then turned back to Yune. “As things stand now, we won’t be able to bring everyone into the tower. We’ll need to leave people here to hold this position. But at the very least, how many are we going to need inside?” Soren was relieved Ike already saw the problem the undead troops posed. 

“They’ll have much stronger forces inside the tower…” Yune began, “not to mention Ashera herself. We’ll send our best dozen. Oh, and we’ll want the two dragons!” She tapped her chin as if thinking. “And one from the heron tribe… And, uh, the empress. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to have Sothe.” At this name, Sothe crept around the side of the tent, revealing that he’d been monitoring the situation the whole time—undoubtedly waiting for Yune to give Micaiah her body back. She gave him a small, knowing smile when he appeared.

“Understood,” Ike said. “If that’s everyone, I’ll make some decisions and gather them together.”

Yune turned to Sothe. “Once we get inside, I’ll leave most of the fighting to Micaiah,” she said. Bringing her hands together, she closed her eyes, and the ghostly blue fire started swirling around her again. This time, however, it settled back into her own skin. “Something like this should work,” she declared brightly, opening her eyes. “She’ll be stronger now, even without me.” With that, she closed her eyes again, and when she opened them this time, they were Micaiah’s. However, they also immediately rolled back in her head.

“Micaiah!” Sothe yelled, catching her and falling to his own knees with her in his arms.

Ike tapped Soren’s shoulder. “Let’s give them some space,” he suggested, and they walked back to where the rest of the army was waiting.

“Who are you going to choose?” Soren tried not to reveal his fear that he wouldn’t be chosen, that Ike would enter the tower and fight Ashera without him. But at the same time, Soren knew he certainly wasn’t the strongest in this army. It would make sense for him to choose the powerful laguz kings (and queen), savants like Pelleas and Bastian, and expert blade-masters like Stefan and Lucia.

“Well, I haven’t completely decided yet…”

“If you would like me to make suggest-”

“Thanks, but I think I know who I want.”

“Of course,” Soren replied curtly, annoyed that he’d cut him off.

Ike seemed to regret it too. “Sorry,” he said, glancing to the side. “I mean…I know who I want to be the core of the group.”

“Oh?” Soren tried to seem objective and aloof.

“There’s only one team I’d trust with something as important as the end of the world,” Ike replied, and he stopped before they reached the rest of the army. “My family: the Greil Mercenaries.”

“The- the mercenaries,” Soren repeated, hardly believing what he was hearing. “You’d choose us for this?”

“I can’t think of anyone who would do a better job,” Ike replied, and he was smiling now.

Soren tried to rein in his surprise. After all, he trusted Ike’s judgement. “Very well,” he said, “That’s ten. Who else?”

“Maybe Elincia, she’s practically one of us at this point. And Ranulf, he’s a true friend…” Ike thought aloud.

“Both would be excellent choices,” Soren replied simply. “I trust you will choose well.”

Ike resumed walking. “Then again, I can’t imagine Skrimir would let me take Ranulf without taking him too. Hmm, I wondered if Yune would say no to a baker’s dozen.”

“I am sure you could get away with it,” Soren returned favorably, “Somehow, I doubt Yune knows what a baker’s dozen is.”

This made Ike chuckle. “Twenty then,” he said after a while. “Twenty of us will enter the Tower of Guidance.” Then he seemed to second guess himself. “Unless, well… I’ll give them the choice.”

“You always do,” Soren replied coolly. “But they always choose to follow you anyway.”

For the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, Yune’s Chosen cleared the dead soldiers away and used rubble, furniture, and whatever else they could find to build a series of three barricades around the entrance to the tower. They also stockpiled their supplies. Meanwhile, Ike met privately with each member of the Greil Mercenaries to ask them to join him. Apparently he wanted each of the mercenaries to agree without the pressure of their comrades watching.

However, there was one mercenary who realized what he was doing before he reached her. Titania approached him during the lunch break, and by this time, Soren judged that only half of the mercenaries had been recruited.

“Ike…” she began, kneeling by the cookfire where Mist was serving porridge and everyone else was waiting with bowls. “Commander Ike,” she amended. “I know what you are doing.”

“Uhh…”

“Please...” Titania grimaced as if in deep pain. “I agree with your judgement, and I know the Greil Mercenaries will not let you down. But please… Do not ask me- Do not choose me for this mission.”

Ike stared at her in bewilderment.

“I am not as strong as I once was,” Titania continued, and the lines in her neck and the corner of her eyes seemed clearer. The feathering of white hairs on her head shone in stark contrast against the brilliant red. She seemed suddenly smaller, although Soren knew she was still a tall and powerful horsewoman. “And I am not the right choice for this mission. I can better use the terrain out here. Choose someone else to fight beside you.” Unslinging the poleaxe from her back, Titania brought it in front of her and placed the head on the ground. She held it in both hands and leaned her forehead against the long handle. “Let me fight here, in Greil’s name, with his axe. Let me fight here, with King Caineghis on my right and Lord Renning on my left. Let me fight here, for Crimea and all of Tellius, for beorc and laguz, against Ashera’s unholy army. For so long as I draw breath, I will not let them set foot in that tower. I will watch your back, Ike…but you no longer need a deputy commander.”

“Titania…” Ike reached out both of his hands to touch her shoulders. He leaned his own head against the axe’s shaft. “Then, I will not ask you to do this.” With that, he leaned in and hugged her around the weapon. Titania embraced him back, just as fervently.

“I am so proud of you, Ike,” she breathed, cupping the back of his head. “I am so proud of the man you’ve become. I wish Greil could see you. I know he would be so, so proud.”

Soren couldn’t see Ike’s face, but when they finally parted, he caught the glimmer of moisture just below his eyes. “Thank you,” he said, “Thank you, Titania. For everything.”

“If you meet Zelgius in there,” Titania said, reaching out a hand to thumb away the wetness on his check, “I know you will defeat him. You are stronger and wiser now than you have ever been. Just by living and growing these past years, you have avenged Greil’s death a hundred times over.”

Ike hung his head. “Thank you.”

“He’d be so proud,” Titania said again.

Looking around, Soren saw that Mist, Rhys, and Oscar were all crying. Gatrie and Mia were both aggressively wiping their eyes. Boyd had an arm around Rolf’s shoulders. Even Shinon seemed moved (or at least, he was staring at the ground with an oddly saddened expression).

Eventually Rolf broke the silence: “Um, does that mean the rest of us are coming with you, Ike?” he asked. Apparently, he was one of the ones Ike hadn’t asked yet.

Taking a deep breath, Ike turned toward them and placed his fists on his knees. The fire beneath the porridge pot flickered in his eyes. “Yes,” he answered, “If you all want to go. I’ve asked some of you already-”

“Of course, I’m coming!” Mia said suddenly. “Just try to leave me behind!”

“I’m in,” Gatrie chuckled, “You know that.”

“I’ll be with you, Ike,” Rhys said solemnly.

“We’ll come,” Oscar said, with an arm around Boyd and Rolf’s shoulders. Both brothers nodded sharply with excited grins.

“You wouldn’t make it far without me.” Shinon tossed his shoulders. “So yeah, I’ll be there.”

“You know I’m coming,” Soren said next.

“I’m not leaving you,” Mist said firmly. “I’m seeing this through to the end.”

Ike nodded back at them. “I guess that’s it then…”

Titania smiled back at everyone, and her tearful eyes were positively glowing with pride. “Although we may fight in different parts of the field,” she said, “we fight the same battle. Although we fight with different arms, we fight with the same heart. I will be with you, even from out here.”

“We’ll be counting on you, Caineghis, and the others,” Ike said, turning back to her.

“We won’t let you down,” she promised.

With that, Mist awkwardly began ladling the porridge into everyone’s bowls, and they ate despite the dampness still on half their cheeks. Although Soren was certainly not moved to tears like the others, he did find that the porridge stuck in his throat. He had to concentrate just to swallow. He’d never considered Titania a particularly close friend, but they’d worked side-by-side all these years. They knew each other’s secrets and trusted each other in a fight. It would be strange to march into battle with the rest of the mercenaries but to leave her behind.

After lunch, Ike and the rest of the mercenaries split up to finish making preparations and pack their bags. Ike advised they take enough vulneraries, water, and rations for three days, since no one knew how long it would take to reach Ashera (and Yune’s vague warning about the tower being bigger on the inside meant they should probably prepare for the worst).

Soren did the same, and when he was finished, he sought Ike again. But he was momentarily waylaid by Tibarn, who was also looking for Ike. “Where is he?” he demanded, seeming angry about something.

“This way I believe,” Soren replied, walking in the direction he felt Ike’s presence.

Tibarn walked alongside him, grumbling, “What’s he thinking picking Reyson…” and Soren had to assume Reyson was the heron Ike had chosen for the tower mission. He had forgotten to ask.

When Ike came into view, he was talking to Kurthnaga and Daein’s dowager queen. Her veil was flipped back and she was standing straighter than Soren had yet seen her, although she also had an arm linked with Kurthnaga’s for support.

“Hey, Ike!” Tibarn called through gritted teeth and a false smile. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

Ike waved to show he’d heard him. “Well then, Lady Almedha, Prince Kurth, take care,” he bid them.

“Yes, you as well,” Kurthnaga replied.

Just then, Soren and Tibarn reached them. “Reyson’s not going anywhere without me,” the Hawk King began. “So either pick Rafiel or Leanne instead or I’m coming too.” He crossed his arms as if to say he wouldn’t budge.

Ike gestured for them to walk and talk, while Kurthnaga and the woman walked in the other direction. The woman—Queen Almedha—was stumbling and looking over her shoulder while whispering frantically to the Dragon Prince. But Soren couldn’t hear anything over Tibarn’s tantrum.

“Well, I don’t see why not,” Ike conceded, and his calm tone revealed that Tibarn’s frenzy was unwarranted. “Since Titania’s not coming, that frees up a spot.”

“Good,” Tibarn declared as if satisfied. “There’s no telling what kind of trouble he’d-”

“Ah! Wait! Wait, stop a moment!” a woman’s voice called, and Soren, Ike, and Tibarn all turned around in surprise.

Almedha was running frantically toward them, while Kurthnaga tried to stop her. “Sister!” he called, and Soren was momentarily stunned by the word. But now that he saw her face clearly, he knew it to be true. Not only was her skin and hair the same color as Kurthnaga’s and Rajaion’s, but she too had a red laguz mark on her face. Instead of being in the center of her forehead like her brothers’, it was just above her temple, half-covered by her hair. Soren realized she had to be second of Dheginsea’s three children: the daughter he’d assumed was dead.

The only problem with such a realization was that she was standing right in front of him, and yet she didn’t feel like a laguz at all. Then again, neither did she feel like a beorc or a Branded. She felt like nothing at all, as if she were some sort of wraith.

“Yes?” Soren managed to say, because she was staring at him instead of at Ike or Tibarn. “Did you need something?”

“You are… What is your name?” Almedha asked.

Soren glanced at Ike, suspecting that he must have said something to set her off, but he just shrugged. “Soren,” he finally answered.

“I-I see.” Almedha stared at him until she shivered and glanced downward. Kurthnaga grabbed her arms as if to steady her. “That…that is a fine name.”

“Thank you…?” Soren offered in response. He glanced at Ike again, but he looked just as confused as Soren felt.

“You’re welcome,” Almedha replied, not making eye contact again.

“Is that all?”

“Ah, yes, yes.” She shook her head. “Pardon me, calling out to you like that… I was confused.” She lifted a hand to her head.

“Don’t let it trouble you,” Soren replied curtly. “If you will excuse us.” He, Ike, and Tibarn kept walking while Kurthnaga dealt with his sister.

When they were far enough away, Soren dared ask, “Did either of you know Daein’s dowager queen was Goldoan?”

“Yeah, for a little while actually…” Ike answered, rubbing the back of his neck. “You can probably guess now why Ena and Kurth were so intent on saving Daein, right? Family’s a big thing for them.” Soren was annoyed that Ike hadn’t said anything sooner, but this must have been the thing Kurthnaga swore him to secrecy about.

“Well, we travelled together from Daein,” Tibarn answered next, “and I knew she wasn’t beorc. Makes sense that she’s got the old lizard’s blood. She is _strong_ when she throws her fits.”

“Fits?” Soren repeated.

“Couldn’t you tell?” Tibarn gave a halfhearted laugh, “That lady’s not all there.” He tapped the side of his head meaningfully.

“I guess that’s what happens when you marry ‘Mad’ King Ashnard,” Ike sighed. “Kurth told me the story. Ashnard threatened to hurt Pelleas to control her. He even lured Prince Rajaion into a trap and poisoned him… It all sounds so awful.”

“Pelleas…” Soren thought aloud but stifled what he was going to say. The problem with Ike’s story was that Pelleas wasn’t Branded and therefore couldn’t be the child of Almedha and Ashnard. _Could she be lying? Does Pelleas know?_ Soren wondered and suspected this might be why Pelleas was so interested in the Branded. It was a disturbing thought. Either Pelleas was Ashnard’s child by some other woman, or he wasn’t Ashnard’s child—or the rightful king of Daein—at all.

“Hey, Tibarn, why don’t you go tell Reyson the good news?” Ike said, successfully changing the subject and lightening the mood.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Tibarn replied before flapping away.

Soren and Ike kept walking toward the mercenaries’ spent cookfire. Some of the others were lingering around it, with bags now packed.


	23. CHAPTER 89: GUIDING TOWER

When the tower team was prepared to leave, the rest of the survivors paused in their fortification-building to say goodbye. All of the Disciples’ corpses had disappeared less than a quarter hour ago, which was an ominous sign that they would be reanimated and attack again soon. Regardless of the danger, however, no one wanted to let Ike and the others enter the tower without well-wishes. Soren lined up with the rest, even though he didn’t expect anyone to seek him out.

He was wrong. Ilyana and Aimee were the first to approach.

“Here,” Ilyana held out a small bag. “They’re chestnuts and dried apricots,” she explained in response to his questioning gaze. “They’re my favorite this time of year...” She stared at the bag hungrily but let it go.

“You’re giving me food?” Soren asked in disbelief. “Willingly?”

Ilyana just sighed sadly. She was still looking at the bag.

“There you go, Ilyana my dear.” Aimee wrapped an arm around her friend. “See? There is more to life than food.”

“Thank you,” Soren suddenly remembered to say.

“Be safe,” Ilyana offered.

Soren nodded.

“Take care of my Ikey-poo,” Aimee teased, but then her smile flickered away. “And take care of yourself. We’ll all be thinking of you from out here.”

Soren nodded again. “Good luck to you too.”

With that, Ilyana and Aimee went to say goodbye to Mist farther down the line. A moment later, they were replaced by Tormod and Muarim.

“Good luck!” Tormod cheered. “Give ‘em hell!”

“That is the plan.”

Muarim chuckled deeply. “My Tormod has learned a lot from you. I wanted to express my gratitude before we parted ways.”

“Hey!” Tormod complained. “I was gonna say that!”

Soren stared at Tormod, waiting for an explanation.

“I’ve never had a magic teacher, and most everything I learned was from watching people like you and Calill and Ilyana. I’m pretty strong now—” he grinned widely “—so thanks!”

“I am glad I could be of service,” Soren replied, although he’d had no idea Tormod had been paying any attention to him during the Mad King’s War.

Tormod nodded firmly and turned to walk away, but Muarim lingered. “There is a second thing I wish to say,” he said after a moment. “I once misspoke in your presence… No.” He shook his head as if restarting: “More than a few careless words, I have actively worked to keep beorc and laguz separate.” Tormod looked up at his adopted father quizzically. “I defended the systems I abhor, because I chose order and compromise over true reform.” The tiger gazed up at the Tower of Guidance for a moment and then shook his head. “I see now how dangerous order can be.”

Soren had not expected Muarim to recall that day in Zunanma City, let alone bring up the matter here. He hadn’t expected it to weigh on the man’s mind at all—not when he’d had his own people to protect, his city to build, the feral ones to avenge, or Daein’s rebellion to fight. At that thought, Soren wondered if it had been Micaiah or Yune who’d changed his mind. Whatever the case, he didn’t ask and merely said: “I understand.”

Muarim nodded. “Then please, take care inside the tower.” With that he turned to leave.

Tormod clearly didn’t understand Muarim’s apology, and he glanced from him to Soren in confusion. But then he seemed to decide it didn’t matter and followed after the tiger, waving and calling behind him: “Good luck!”

They were moving toward Micaiah’s line to say their farewells, and when they were far enough away, Soren turned his attention to the next person approaching him: Stefan. He was one of the only people Soren had expected might say something. They weren’t exactly friends, but Stefan had always been friendly toward him, in his own (rather intrusive) way.

“If we both survive, you should come with me to the desert,” he offered. “You needn’t stay, but you should meet your own people.”

Soren shook his head. “If we both survive this, you and your people should leave the desert,” he countered. “What’s the point of saving the world if you don’t see any of it?”

Stefan shrugged. “Perhaps.”

Soren decided to push further. “What if there were a place they could live safely without hiding?”

“What if there were such a place?” Stefan returned.

“There is an abandoned city in the Erzt Mountains,” Soren found himself saying, although he didn’t know where the idea came from. “It belongs to no nation, but it is at the center of the continent. It’s defensible, and it’s rich in ore and potential trade routes. It just has to be dug out a bit.”

“What an interesting notion…” Stefan rubbed his chin.

Soren shook his head to banish the thought. “Never mind.”

“Perhaps you can tell me more about this strange city upon your return,” Stefan replied diplomatically. “Should we both survive.”

“I will do my best.”

“As will I,” Stefan promised.

When he moved away, Nephenee took his place. “Hiya, Sor’n!” she greeted him brightly. “You ready for this?”

Soren simply nodded.

Nephenee’s cheerful expression faded slightly. “Before ya go, there’s somethin’ I wanted to tell ya.”

“And that would be?”

“It sure is strange… Some uh’the others think the tower has somethin’ t’do with it, but since I’ve been ‘ere, I’ve been thinkin’ about so many little thin’s I f’got. I’ve been thinkin’ about home, and my fam’ly, and…” She shook her head and then asked sheepishly: “By an’chance, did ya go to my grandaddy’s bir’day one time?”

Soren was surprised she would remember such a thing, and he wondered if Ashera’s influence had something to do with it after all. “Yes,” he finally answered.

Nephenee stared back in shock. “Really? That was you? I thought I was goin’ nuts!” she laughed. “Gosh, you were jus’ a li’l kid.”

“It was a long time ago,” Soren replied coolly.

Nephenee sighed again. “I can’t b’lieve our paths crossed ‘gain. And now we’re ‘ere?” She shook her head again, and Soren said nothing. “When all this’s over, ya should come visit ‘gain,” she offered with a small smile. “Ya won’t have to slip ‘way without sayin’ g’dbye this time.”

“Very well,” Soren found himself accepting. “When all of this is over.”

Nephenee waved as she left, and now Calill walked up while balancing Amy on her hip. The little girl smiled brightly and reached out when she saw Soren, but Calill didn’t put her down. “Amy wanted to wish you luck,” she explained. “Go ahead, honey.”

“Good luck!” Amy called, kicking her legs. “Smash da bad lady and turn Daddy back to normal!”

Soren nodded. “I will try, Amy.”

Calill eyed him uncertainly.

Soren decided this might be his last chance to tell her the truth. “Calill…” he began. “Do you know who Amy’s parents were?” He adjusted his phrasing: “Do you what she is?”

Calill looked surprised at the accusation, but then she caught herself and her expression calmed. She gingerly stroked Amy’s cheek. “Yes,” she answered, “but I don’t care. She’s my daughter. That’s all that matters.”

Now it was Soren who was surprised, but in truth, he’d hoped this was the case all along. “Good,” he said. Then, to cut off the awkward silence he felt starting between them, he added: “Give her a good home.”

“Of course.” Calill nodded once. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Amy glanced from Calill to Soren like she had no idea what they were talking about. “We’re going home?” she asked hopefully.

“Soon,” Calill promised, smoothing back her hair. With that, she gave Soren a long parting glance, and walked away.

“Good luck!” Amy called again, waving over her mother’s shoulder.

Next to say goodbye was Danved, Kieran, and Brom, all of whom offered exaggeratedly tear-stained farewells and big hugs. Soren had seen them working their way down the line and known this was coming. He withstood the barrage of affection until they moved on.

Then it was Bastian who approached. “Pray, might I enlist your aid once again?” he asked hopefully.

Soren narrowed his eyes. “What could you possibly want now?”

Bastian’s smile was small, but there was still a confident twinkle in his eye. “Watch over our fair Queen Elincia,” he said, “It burdens my heart heavily to know I shan’t be at her side in this battle to end all battles. But in what better company can she find herself than the Mercenaries of Greil?”

“Very well,” Soren agreed, willing to play along, “We can discuss our wage when we get back. But it will cost you.”

Bastian’s smile stretched wider, and he offered his hand. “'Tis a contract among men,” he declared when Soren shook it. “Now I need not fear in the least, for I know Elincia shall be safer than a babe at its mother’s bosom.”

“Sure,” Soren agreed, only willing to play for so long. Satisfied, Bastian twirled away. The crowd of well-wishers was thinning now. Almost everyone was standing back, having said their piece, and were now waiting to watch the team depart.

Tauroneo seemed to be the last waiting to speak with Soren. “Hello again, lad,” he greeted him. “You and Gawain’s son have come a long way. You will continue to watch out for him, won’t you?”

“I’ll do everything I can,” Soren promised. “I will never leave him.”

“Good,” Tauroneo replied contentedly. “Aye, that’s good.”

Soren turned his head to see Ike now. He was saying goodbye to Aimee, and the shopkeeper was latched onto his arm, crooning up at him while he laughed nervously and tried to scrape her off.

Tauroneo walked away, and Soren realized he’d been wrong about the old general being the last one. Titania wrapped him in a tight hug, catching him by surprise. “Oh! Please take care of yourself,” she bid before letting go, “and Ike. I want to see you both at the end of this, I really do.”

Soren said nothing, because he felt he’d been repeating himself during these farewells—promising again and again that he would try his best to protect Ike and himself, to defeat Ashera and save everyone. But the truth was he couldn’t make any promises. No one could.

“I know we don’t always agree,” Titania continued, stepping back, “but I have enjoyed working with you these past few years. And I am just as proud of how much you’ve grown as I am of Ike. Seeing you smile with everyone else now—you’re so different than you used to be.”

“I will take that as a compliment,” Soren replied carefully, “…I think.”

Titania chuckled but then her smile turned sad. “I told you once not to live in regret like me,” she said slowly, “Do you remember that?”

“Dimly,” Soren replied.

Titania nodded before continuing: “I wonder now, if it might be worse to die in regret.”

He said nothing, waiting for her to continue.

“Tell Ike how you feel,” she finally said, and her voice was soft. “I never told Greil, and I lost my chance. But if I imagine our roles were reversed and I had died before him, even if I died _for_ him, I would have- I would have still regretted it. Not telling him. I still do. Every day.”

“You…never told him,” Soren repeated. He’d always wondered.

Titania shook her head. “Tell Ike how you feel,” she repeated. “So that, no matter what happens…” She shook her head again and stepped back.

Only then did Soren realize Titania had probably known about his feelings for Ike for a long time. A wave of embarrassment rolled over him, but it passed as quickly as it came. There were far more important things to worry about now.

Titania offered a final wave before joining the rest of Yune’s Chosen who would stay to guard the entrance. Soren’s hand rose in answer. He didn’t know if he would follow Titania’s advice, but did appreciate that she cared enough to give it.

Finally, the Greil Mercenaries—accompanied by Micaiah (Yune), Sothe, Tibarn, Reyson, Ena, Kurthnaga, Sanaki, Skrimir, and Ranulf—walked into the Tower of Guidance. The massive doors weren’t locked, sliding easily inward at Yune’s touch.

Inside, they found themselves in a grand, round hall filled with silvery blue light despite the fact there were no braziers, windows, or any other light source. The empty room was broken only by huge, engraved columns. On the opposite side was an enormous carved door. Soren knew this room was the size of the tower’s footprint. There shouldn’t have been a door on the other side, because there was no back door behind the tower. Furthermore, there should have been stairs, because this was, indeed, a tower. But not only were there no stairs, there wasn’t even a ceiling. Looking up was like looking at a starless night sky. Even the tops of the pillars disappeared. Growing dizzy, Soren decided not to look up again.

“It’s…so quiet,” Ike said, and his voice had no echo. The room swallowed his words. “Is the goddess here?”

“Uh-huh,” Yune affirmed, “She’s at the top. Be careful, everyone. This tower is Ashera’s home territory. She’s certain to have her most powerful troops waiting for us up ahead. We must proceed with the utmost caution.”

With that, Yune and Ike led the party to the other side, and Yune once again opened the door just by touching it. This time, a massive stairwell was revealed beyond. The fact that this didn’t make any sense momentarily stretched Soren’s mind in abject confusion. But recalling Yune’s warning, he forced himself to accept whatever he saw here.

The stairs kept going, twisting and turning, for a long time. Sometimes there were walls; sometimes there were not. When there weren’t walls, Soren could look over the edge of the stairs and see an abyss below. Like looking at the ceiling in the entrance hall, this was like looking at the sky. It had no end, and Soren’s sense of up and down would surge back and forth if he gazed too long.

Once he’d regained his balance and continued moving, he tried to glance backward, to see where the stairs were coming from, but they merely extended forever, much farther than they could have already walked. Or had they? Soren found he couldn’t quite remember if they’d been here for only a minute, an hour, or a day.

When he looked ahead, he had the same problem. The stairs doubled back, went up and down again, passed parts of itself, and levelled out onto platforms that should certainly not have been floating with nothing to suspend them. Sometimes there were vast round walls visible in the distance, surrounding them; sometimes there were not. Sometimes mighty pillars and bits of rubble appeared on either side, but Soren’s mind would become awash with confusion if he tried to figure out what they were attached to, when they’d entered his field of vision, or where they went when he passed them.

“Try not to look down,” Yune advised when some of the others voiced their bewilderment. “Just keep going.” Then she returned Micaiah’s body, and the team proceeded without her guidance.

Soren tried to take her advice and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. Despite the distance they were climbing and the fact that the stairwell was at times quite steep, his legs never felt tired.

Eventually the stairs led the mercenaries to a long platform that stretched farther than any entrance hall or ballroom ever should. It lacked walls, and on either side of it, short staircases branched off, leading to smaller platforms that connected back down to the main platform at the opposite end. Deployed on the main floor and (from what Soren could see) on the peripheral, higher platforms, were hundreds of Disciples of Order. Fortunately (or not), these people seemed much more alive than the ones they’d fought outside the tower; they shifted their weight and glared self-righteously at the mercenaries.

Standing at the forefront of the army was an old man with white-streaked yellow hair, large muttonchops, and a bit of a beard. He was neatly groomed, however, and dressed in red-fringed white robes and a belt of woven gold. In his hand he wielded what Soren now recognized as a Rewarp staff. He assessed the mercenaries with interest as they spilled onto his battlefield.

“Well, well… ‘Apostle’ Sanaki,” he greeted her when she stomped to the front. “What a surprise seeing you here. Frankly, I’m amazed that you, of all people, would dare to set foot inside the most holy Tower of Guidance.”

Sanaki clenched her fists and knotted her jaw but didn’t fall for the bait.

Micaiah and Sothe, on the other hand, ran past Sanaki—even though this put them within range of the Disciples’ longbows. “Lekain!” Micaiah shouted. “We’ve been looking for you a long time!”

“Oh?” Lekain laughed, apparently unconcerned. He didn’t yet signal his troops to attack. Meanwhile, Ike was nudging everyone (except Sanaki, Micaiah, and Sothe) into an offensive formation.

“You bound Daein to your awful pact, hounded noble King Pelleas, and stole countless lives in your appalling war!” Micaiah accused with an outstretched finger. “You are…beyond redemption!” She gestured sharply to the ground, and Sothe touched her arm (possibly to stop her from racing forward and attacking Lekain on her own).

“Beyond redemption?” Lekain repeated. “My, that does sound dreadful. Whatever will you do with me?” he laughed, but then he narrowed his eyes and grew serious. “Oh, and let me remind you, the blood pact is still in effect. You would do well to remember that. I think you know what will happen to the people of Daein if you should dare oppose me.”

Soren, for one, did not know what would happen to the people of Daein, and he glanced at Ike, who just shrugged as if to say he didn’t know either. Soren had never heard of a ‘blood pact’ before, but if what Micaiah was implying was true, then it could be the reason Daein had supported Begnion in the war.

“Enough,” Micaiah growled back. “We fear your threats no longer. No more will we bow to your every whim. Now that we’ve found you, we will exact justice upon you, then destroy the blood pact itself, ending its power over us!”

“So you figured it out, did you?” Lekain laughed again. “It matters not. This changes nothing.” He rummaged in his sleeve for a moment and extracted a tightly bound piece of paper. “Here is the scroll for which you’ve been searching _so_ diligently,” he cooed, giving it a little wave. “Right here in my hands.”

“Ah!” Micaiah cried out. She stepped forward despite Sothe’s grip, and a Disciple archer fired a warning shot near her foot. The arrow broke on the stone floor and clattered away, but it was enough to make her stop in her tracks.

“And yet, none of you will ever lay one grimy finger upon it,” Lekain sighed happily, returning the scroll to his sleeve. Reaching around himself, he plucked a light tome from a holster on his lower back. With it in his left hand and the Rewarp staff in his right, he raised his arms. “I have been blessed by the Goddess herself!” he announced, “Her protection will not allow you _fleas_ to even approach me!”

“Lekain!” Sanaki snarled. “Cease this travesty of virtue at once!”

“What have we here?” Lekain lowered his arms. “Oh, yes, the apostle. Excuse me, child, but I had completely forgotten you were here. But somehow, despite the extraordinary plans of great men, here you stand before my very eyes.”

“If Sephiran and I hadn’t been freed…” Sanaki walked forward until she was standing side-by-side with Micaiah. “You were just waiting for your chance to kill us, weren’t you? Just as you killed my grandmother!”

“Out of respect for the imminently deceased,” Lekain teased, “I’ll be completely honest. Yes, you assume correctly. Your assassination, and the plot to once again frame the Serenes herons for it, was entirely _my_ idea.”

“Yes…” Sanaki shook her head as if disappointed. “I thought as much.”

“Impressive, Sanaki,” Lekain replied mockingly, “When you were first crowned, you would have cried your little eyes out. You’ve grown…slightly.”

Now it was Sanaki’s turn to summon her rage and point an accusing finger at the Vice Minister. “Lekain, Duke of Gaddos! Before the thirty-seventh Empress of Begnion…prepare to be judged!”

“An amusing game, child, truly. But you must know that there is nothing you can do against me! I am the greatest servant of the all-knowing, almighty Ashera. I am her chosen champion! And you, Sanaki, are a pathetic wretch, mewling behind her pack of Daein curs.” Micaiah hissed and Sothe growled as if to both confirm and deny his insult. “Ashera’s judgement is upon you! You will not live to be turned to stone… You will die here as flesh and blood!”

With that, Lekain tapped his Rewarp staff against the ground and teleported himself to the left corner at the far end of the hall. A moment later, his archers started firing. But Sanaki was prepared for them, already weaving a wall of wind to block the incoming volley. Micaiah and Sothe stayed at her side while a regiment of heavily armored shield knights advanced.

“I guess he’s done talking,” Ike announced, “So let’s do this! CHARGE!”

At his command, Soren and the others moved forward in a wedge formation, meeting up with Sanaki, Micaiah, and Sothe and then continuing to surge into the Disciples’ advancing shield wall.

Once they broke through, they immediately spread out. Elincia led Skrimir, Boyd, Rolf, and Mia to the right, taking out the nearest soldiers and charging up the steps to the rightward offshoot. Meanwhile, Tibarn led Ranulf, Reyson, Rhys, Gatrie, and Shinon toward the left offshoot. Ike and Micaiah remained in the central section of the hall, with Mist and Oscar (their only cavalry), Ena and Kurnthaga (who moved to the front, where they could do the most damage), and Sanaki and Soren (who used long-distance spells to disrupt the Disciples’ archer regiments). Of course, Sothe was here too. He wielded a knife in either hand and was moving constantly to keep Micaiah from becoming surrounded.

Meanwhile, she was casting an impressive assortment of light spells. Although Yune was no longer controlling her, Micaiah was obviously a powerful sage in her own right. She incanted quickly and clearly, and each spell was chosen and manipulated to maximum effect. She monitored distant enemies and laid waste to them with Purge, blocked, herded, and aligned her nearest enemies with barriers of Shine, poisoned and confounded others with Valaura, and scorched the rest with bursts of Thani. Her absolute control was almost hypnotizing to watch, but Soren couldn’t afford to ignore his own opponents, so he tore his eyes away.

Casting both Tornado and Thoron as his shields, Soren fell back momentarily until he was confident both spells were strong enough to protect him. The winds would block, and the lightning would counter. The latent charge in the air made the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand on end, but at least the spell was active and working.

Running toward the frontlines, Soren cast Bolganone in a long arc to cut off his enemies’ escape and then cast Rexcalibur at their center. Forced between the edge of the platform and the lava, there was little room to flee the encapsulating winds except for falling back or surging forward—which some did. But most were caught in the middle and subjected to the spiraling blade-like gusts.

However, Rexcalibur seemed to be weaker than before, and several Disciples picked themselves back up with only minor injuries. Considering how drained Soren was already feeling, he couldn’t believe how strong the enchantment on their armor must be. But he couldn’t dwell on this fact, because the soldiers who’d pressed forward to avoid the spell were now slicing and stabbing at him. He barely avoided getting skewered, because these soldiers’ weapons were enchanted as well. They were burning right through his Tornado and Thoron spells, breaking them completely after only a few hits.

Soren found himself falling back again, firing Elwind spells to try to remove some of the nearest Disciples’ armor. But even this was more difficult than before. Everything about these opponents was tougher, and Soren started to wonder if he should have stayed behind. Ike’s idealism and devotion to his friends had motivated him choose them for this mission. At the time, everyone had agreed, thinking he knew best. But in truth, the Greil Mercenaries were nothing special. Soren was nothing special. _Why did I think he had a right to come?_ he wondered.

A moment later, an arrow sprouted from the neck of the Disciple halberdier in front of him, and gurgling slightly, the body fell. Soren glanced to the right and saw Shinon perched on the edge of a nearby platform. “Good shot, right?” he asked smugly, knocking another arrow.

There was a Disciple thunder mage creeping up behind him, and Soren wondered if Shinon knew this and was pretending not to notice. But deciding he’d be better safe than sorry, Soren sent a small, targeted Wind spell straight at the mage’s neck. It was one of his weakest spells, but it was the fastest to incant.

Now it was the mage who gurgled and slumped. Shinon glanced over his shoulder and looked honestly surprised. “Not bad,” he deemed reluctantly. “But what about this?” Raising his next arrow, he launched it in a high arc, and it came down just inside the chest plate of a Disciple swordsman. The swordsman didn’t die immediately, but he stumbled backward, spitting up blood and clawing at his chest. The arrow’s fletching brushed his nose.

Soren didn’t think now was the time for games, but Shinon’s easy confidence was comforting. Casting a Blizzard spell, Soren concentrated it on a single Disciple bowman. Willing the gusts into freezing shafts, he struck down, aiming for the narrow gap between the man’s gorget and his neck. His spell succeeded, and the bowman hit the ground, flailing and coughing blood.

Shinon laughed wickedly and sent his next arrow through the eye-hole of a Disciple’s helmet. Soren matched him by firing an Elwind spell into her other eye and obliterating her brain. For another minute or two, Soren and Shinon played, until Tibarn called for Shinon to move forward again. Soren realized he’d fallen behind too and ran toward Ike. Calming his mind, he reminded himself to take this battle one step at a time.

When he neared Ena, Soren cast two Bolganone spells to cut off her victims’ escape routes, and she roasted them alive when they tried to change direction.

When he found himself near Micaiah and Sothe again, he watched where she was casting Shine spells to predict where her next big attack would be. Then he aided her by casting Tornado in the rear, eliminating the escape route for her otherwise trapped opponents.

When Micaiah moved onto her next round of enchantments, Soren switched to Elthunder and Thoron spells. He stunned Disciples, thereby exposing their vulnerable points to Sothe, who tore into like some sort of demon. In addition to the daggers in his hands, it seemed his pockets and belt were full of throwing knifes, and he even had sliding blades in the toe of his boot and strapped to his forearms. He never stopped moving: twisting, turning, punching, kicking, and slashing repeatedly until he was as covered in his victims’ blood as they were.

Moving away from the two Daein freedom fighters, Soren finally reunited with Ike and fought between him and Sanaki. As always, Ike was a sight to behold, proving his incredible strength and versatility with every strike. He treated each opponent as if they were worthy of his full attention and might, and they roared angrily when they attacked him, demanding to know how he dared show such audacity while defying their precious goddess. “Isn’t it better to be alive?” Ike would laugh or growl in answer, depending on his mood (which, in turn, depending on if he was recently injured or not). But no matter how he felt, Ike gave a reply before he impaled, decapitated, or eviscerated them.

Soren cast plenty of Elfire and Bolganone spells now that he was here, because the air was dry and bursting with active fire spirits thanks to Sanaki. The empress was once again proving herself a powerful sage. Her incanting sounded stiff (which was to be expected since she must have learned from tutors rather than actual battle), and she was poor at moving her feet and predicting where enemy attacks would come from. But she more than made up for these failings with the sea of fire she conjured with Rexflame. She rarely allowed a soldier to get close before encasing them in a blazing whirlpool.

“This way! Force them back!” Sanaki called over the inferno. Combining their efforts, she and Soren kept up a string of explosions, forcing the Disciples toward the edge of the platform. Soren liked her strategy: knocking them over the side certainly seemed like a reliable way to kill them, since their enchanted armor would do nothing to save them from a fall into the abyss. However, only a few actually fell before the others found an opening in the barrage and scurried to relative safety.

Pursuing the escapees, Soren switch to Blizzard for those farthest away and Tornado for those closest. It was now, when he looked at his distant targets, that he realized they were actually making considerable progress down the long platform. Glancing left and right, Soren saw that Elincia’s and Tibarn’s groups were keeping up at the same pace. He also noticed that she and he were flying back and forth from the central battle to the offshoots, since their aerial abilities gave than that unique advantage.

Although Kurthnaga could also fly, he was fighting from the ground now, whipping his tail into the legions of Disciples and blasting them with his breath. Ena also had wings, but Soren had never seen her use them before. Instead she stomped, lashed out, bit, tossed, and roasted the Disciples with her breath while moving across the battlefield on either two or four feet like some sort of giant, romping bear. That being said, both dragons’ techniques were highly effective.

They continued to fight at the front despite the archers shooting at their sensitive eyes and noses and the spearmen attempting to harpoon their legs and immobilize them. When the spears became lodged in place, Mist and Oscar charged in to cut the ropes so the dragons couldn’t be tripped. Roaring in pain and stumbling only slightly, Ena and Kurthnaga continued to fight. Soren ran closer to the pair, casting additional Bolganone spells as temporary barriers. No matter how his energy waned, he wouldn’t stop fighting either.


	24. CHAPTER 90: SILENCE

Finally they were nearing the end of the platform, and Vice Minister Lekain came into clear view. Opposite him, in the right corner, was Duke Hetzel. While Lekain wielded a light tome and Rewarp staff, Hetzel was carrying a different staff in each hand. One was an ornately wrought, white-gold rod with a winged head. Although Soren had only ever seen drawings, he suspected this must be a Silence staff. If so, it could prove troublesome—for Soren especially. In Hetzel’s other hand was a wooden staff with some sort of multi-colored glass ball in the head. This, Soren was fairly certain, was a Sleep staff. It could be a serious problem for everyone.

They would come within range of the two senators soon, so Soren tried to spread his observations quickly: “They have staves!” he called to whoever could hear him, “Rewarp, Silence, and Sleep!”

“Good eye, Soren!” Ike called back, and then more loudly. “Heads up, everyone! Watch out for stave magic! Don’t let it catch you!”

As they edged closer to the senators’ legions of guards, Hetzel began using his staves. Triangles of blue light appeared under the feet of whoever he cast his Silence staff at, and the victim had only a couple seconds to get out of the way. Hetzel was also clever with his casting, and Soren noticed he was trying to predict the mercenaries’ movement and force them to step onto the triangles accidently. After barreling past Ena and almost stepping in one, Soren started proceeding more slowly and carefully. Hetzel was clearly targeting the mages in the group: Soren, Sanaki, Micaiah, and Rhys. A Silence staff was designed to take away the victim’s voice, and if they couldn’t use magic, they wouldn’t be able to attack or defend themselves.

Interspersed with the blue triangles, however, were occasional showers of pink and gold sparks, which were even more dangerous. These were the product of Hetzel’s Sleep staff, and if hit, the victim would be knocked out on the spot. Needless to say, the middle of a battlefield was a terrible place for a nap. Soren frantically moved his gaze up and down, watching out for any suspicious light—pink, blue, or otherwise.

In addition to the mages, Ena and Kurthnaga seemed to be Hetzel’s favorite targets (especially for the Sleep staff), probably because they were so big and relatively slow-moving. A minute later, Ena stumbled onto a Silence spell, and her roars were suddenly lost from the battle. Although she continued to fight, she couldn’t make a sound.

Soren decided he needed to end this before something worse happened. Flipping to his long-distance spells, he tried to hit Hetzel with Meteor. But he merely ducked while his guards raised their shields to stop the fireball. Next Soren tried Bolting, but Hetzel had surprisingly good reflexes and was able to duck and use his Silence staff as a ground, funneling the electricity safely into the floor. Finally Soren used Blizzard, but Hetzel’s armored guards pressed in around him with their shields facing outward, safely encasing him against the freezing blades.

Soren determined Bolganone or Rexcalibur would probably do the trick, but for that, he would have to get much closer. So he pressed forward again, fending off the Disciples while on watch for Sleep and Silence attacks. Fortunately, the Sleep attacks caused him to feel drowsy before they took full effect, and twice Soren narrowly avoided losing consciousness by realizing what was happening at the last second and throwing himself out of the way. He was not the only one suddenly darting and weaving to avoid the magical sabotage. The battlefield had descended into acrobatic chaos as soon as Hetzel had begun.

Meanwhile, on the left, Elincia’s group was closing in on Lekain’s guard from one side, while Micaiah and Sothe struck them from the other. But neither could get close enough to actually threaten the man, who was laughing confidently. Soren could only glance over for a second before having to look down and avoid stepping into another dreaded blue triangle. He and Ike were finally making some progress toward Hetzel, and Ranulf and Tibarn were approaching from the other side.

Lekain’s laughter suddenly grew louder, so Soren spared another glance.

“No!” shouted Elincia. She tried to swoop down on Lekain’s head, but one of the archers in his guard shot her pegasus, and the creature flapped in place, whinnying in pain. An instant later, Elincia dove straight down, into the abyss below the platform on which Lekain stood, and Soren wasn’t sure if she’d fallen on purpose or if her steed had died (and Elincia with it).

“Bathe in my radiance!” Lekain called out, raising something above his head that looked like a single sheet of parchment. This was followed by a brief incantation: “*Be awash with silence*.” A blue triangle, similar to that of a Silence staff, materialized around him. Then it shot out in all directions, becoming larger and larger, until it encapsulated half the battlefield (and certainly all of the mercenaries). It dissolved a moment later, but the damage was done.

Soren tried to speak, to say anything, but no words would emerge from his throat. His heart beat fast in panic. Stowing his tome, he withdrew his knife and immediately started falling back. Ike was right beside him, his mouth wide as he barked commands and questions no one could hear. But Soren could read his lips: he wanted to know what that light had been, what had happened, and why he couldn’t speak. Soren just shook his head and ducked to avoid an axe. He no longer had any protective spells surrounding him, and he couldn’t conjure more. He couldn’t do anything.

Giving up on speaking, Ike continued to hack and slash even more fervently. Soren retreated farther, using the knife defensively although it seemed so small and useless. The battlefield felt impossibly lonely and silent despite the fact that Lekain was still laughing and the Disciples were still grunting, shouting, and telling the mercenaries how destined for defeat they were. But no one could reply. No one could call to one another for support or warning. This made them timid, and soon it wasn’t just Soren who was stumbling backward.

Two arrows found his arm, and although he cried out in pain, no sound came from his mouth. Retreating cautiously was a waste of time, so Soren turned tail and ran until he thought he was out of the archers’ range. He was wrong, however, and two more arrows impaled his leg. He fell, catching himself with his good arm, twisting his wrist, and still managing to bump his chin and land hard on his shoulder. Dizziness rolled through his head, but he knew he had to keep moving.

Struggling to remain conscious through the pain, he dragged himself farther. His wrist didn’t seem broken, and now he was safe—and far from the battle. Forcing himself to sit up, he watched the others fight soundlessly. He couldn’t help from here. Then again, unable to chant any spells, he wouldn’t have been able to help in the melee either.

Sanaki came limping toward him, hugging a deep laceration across her upper arm and part of her chest. She said something and grimaced when no sound came out, but Soren could read her lips enough to understand: ‘You too?’

A moment later, Tibarn dropped Rhys off before flying back into the fray. Rhys seemed uninjured, but he also seemed distraught. Although he had his Mend staff in hand, Soren knew he couldn’t say the command word. But then he took a deep (soundless) breath, dropped his staff, approached Sanaki, and mimed what he wanted her to do, which was to show him her arm. She obeyed, and Rhys inspected the wound.

Despite the severity of his own injuries, Soren knew the empress took priority, so he adjusted the way he was sitting to help ease the pain in his leg. But this only caused another wave of agony. He could feel blood pooling in the wound, even if the arrow shafts were keeping it inside. The surrounding flesh was stiff and hot, mottling gray and red. It was a bad hit. His vision was already fading.

He opened his mouth to get Rhys’s attention, but it was useless. He still couldn’t speak. Frustration pressed against the back of his eyes, and for a moment, he felt like a child. But then, remembering that he still had an elixir and a couple vulneraries in his robes, he came back to himself. He tried to retrieve them with his usable (albeit still painful) hand. But without the arm to balance him, he grew dizzy and felt himself falling. He hit the floor and heard the glass vial roll away. The fact that the stone tiles felt soft on the back of his head was probably a bad sign. The indigo abyss above the battlefield became the abyss of his mind, and not even the white pegasus that suddenly shot across it could rouse him. He lost all consciousness.

When Soren awoke, he felt disoriented, as if his head was stuffed with cotton. But scratchy voices managed to work their way through his ears and connect to his brain, and slowly these voices grew clearer—and more familiar. Recalling what had happened, he was anxious to discover how his comrades could be speaking again.

Above all else he wanted to hear Ike’s voice and feel his presence, but when he searched for it, he was overwhelmed and nearly lost consciousness again. Starting smaller, he tried to focus on his immediate vicinity instead.

Raising his head, he slowly propped himself up. His right arm felt numb and his left wrist was still sore. His left leg felt heavy and numb too, but all the arrows were gone and the wounds were sealed.

He was still sitting in the same place but was surrounded by more blood than before. Some of it was undoubtedly his own, but some belonged to others. A pool had dripped off Sanaki, who appeared full healed now, kneeling over Ena, who was oozing a large quantity herself. Rhys was also kneeling over her.

“Please stay still, Lady Ena,” came Sanaki’s voice.

“I’ll be…fine,” came Ena’s reply.

“*Mend*,” came Rhys’s command. This was followed by a green glow, which Soren’s confused mind blinked against.

Squinting, he saw Kurthnaga also lying on the ground nearby. Although not bleeding as severely as Ena, he was unconscious.

Sothe and Micaiah were here too, both sitting and being healed by Elincia. But as soon as Micaiah was able to stand, she lurched away from Queen Crimea. “Allow me,” she said to Rhys, collapsing to her knees beside Ena.

Rhys’s green light was replaced by a strange silver light Soren had never seen before. He wondered, dimly, if this was one of the ‘healing miracles’ the Maiden of Dawn was known for. Unable to look for long because the light caused black spots to appear in his vision, he turned his attention back to Sothe and Elincia. The thief clearly wanted to go after Micaiah, but Elincia held him fast while she repaired a gash and massive bruise spread across his neck and shoulder. It did look like a serious wound, and Soren supposed he was lucky his neck hadn’t been broken.

It was then that Soren remembered Elincia had fallen just before Lekain had unleashed his attack. A moment later, he spotted the staff lying on the ground beside her feet: a Restore staff. It was a squat gold rod with a large opal embedded in the head, and it was supposed to undo any poison, drug, or curse. Soren now understood what must have happened while he’d been unconscious.

When he sat up straighter his head swam, but he tried to ask: ‘Elincia, how many have been restored?’ However, he didn’t make it far into the sentence before realizing no words were coming out. No one could hear him. No one looked at him. No one had even noticed he’d woken up. His throat closed, and the sudden jump in his heartrate made him dizzy. He was alive, but he was starting to panic again. Someone had healed him, but Elincia hadn’t restored his speech. He was still useless.

While he tried to regain control of himself, Micaiah finished healing Ena and slumped to the side, where Sothe caught her, having broken away from Elincia. Sighing, the queen turned her attention to her pegasus, which was lying down and panting hard beside her. An arrow was still protruding from its chest. “I know, I haven’t forgotten you,” she cooed. (Soren, for one, felt quite forgotten.)

Since Micaiah had taken over Ena’s healing, Rhys had moved over to Kurthnaga, closing up his minor wounds. Now he picked up Elincia’s fallen Restore staff and used that on the Dragon Prince as well, thereby waking him.

Kurthnaga yawned and rubbed his head. “What happened?”

“You were hit by Hetzel’s sleep staff,” Rhys explained. “Ena saved you.” He gestured to where the dragon woman was propping herself up, looking woozy.

“Ena!” Kurthnaga cried, awaking fully.

“Don’t worry,” Micaiah explained. “She and the baby are fine.”

Ena nodded. “I’ll just…rest a while. You should return…to the battle.”

Kurthnaga got to his feet and curled his fists, turning back toward the fight. Soren tried to stand too but was still shaky and gave up, kneeling instead. Still no one looked at him. Kurthnaga ran forward—transforming midstride—and was once again a ferocious dragon by the time he reached the others.

Focusing his vision on the distant fighting, Soren finally located Ike. He was alive and tearing into Hetzel’s guards with the help of Tibarn overhead. Although Reyson couldn’t sing galdr any more than the mages could use spells, he must have insisted on staying at Tibarn’s side because he was there too. In his heron form, his long beak and webbed feet were ill-suited for battle, but he was clearly doing his utmost to peck out the Disciples’ eyes and scratch them with the spurs attached to this skinny bird ankles. Soren was envious.

However, these three and the mercenaries fighting behind them were all still silent, which meant Elincia must have come to the aid of the injured, impotent mages first. Soren could not have been unconscious very long.

Just then, Sanaki stomped up to Elincia, who’d finally coaxed her steed back onto its hooves. “Help me get to Lekain!” she demanded.

“One minute,” Elincia replied, holding up her palm. Stepping past the empress, she accepted the Restore rod Rhys was holding out. “Did I miss anyone?” she asked, moving her eyes over everyone. Rhys moved back to Ena’s side, and Sothe and Micaiah both got to their feet. Soren managed to stand this time too, and he raised his hand. He was immensely relieved when Elincia’s eyes locked onto him, although he told himself he hadn’t been invisible, only mute.

“Oh, Soren, I’m sorry.” She crossed the distance between them and waved the wand, passing the pale blue light over him. “Better? How are your wounds?”

For a split second, Soren feared he wouldn’t be able to speak even after the curse was undone, but then the words came out: “I-I’m fai- fine.”

However, his voice sounded wrong even to his own ears. It was like Leanne’s voice—accented with the ancient language. But that wasn’t quite right. It was undeniably his voice: his first voice, his voice as a child. It was deeper now, but the stuttering, the lack of confidence, the lack of proper cadence—it was heartbreakingly familiar. Panic rose in him again. Memories flashed before his eyes, but it wasn’t enough to block out Elincia’s concerned frown.

He tried again: “We have was-ed too mus- muj- much time.” He felt himself blushing. “Le’s move.”

Elincia glanced at Rhys in concern, and he got to his feet. “Uh, he did hit his head,” he offered. “Soren, you should sit back down.”

He shook his head even though it made him dizzy. He knew that wasn’t the reason. The Silence curse, Ashera’s power, his own fear—he didn’t have to know the exact explanation. But he knew his inability to speak was entirely his own problem.

“Queen Elincia, we _must_ confront Lekain!” Sanaki prompted her again.

Elincia tore her eyes away from Soren and nodded. “Let’s go.”

“We’re coming too!” Micaiah jumped in, with Sothe at her side.

Elincia nodded and handed the staff back to Rhys. “Restore the others.”

He accepted it reluctantly. “I’d rather stay with Ena.”

“No, you should…go. Help Prince Kurth and…the others,” she said from the ground, but everyone ignored her.

“I’ll ta-e ih- to Mis-,” Soren said, although he hated his broken speech. He seized the staff from Rhys’s hands and started walking toward the battle as quickly as his lightheadedness would allow. He didn’t want to be useless anymore.

No one stopped him. Elincia mounted her pegasus and trotted back toward Lekain’s half of the battlefield with Sanaki, Sothe, and Micaiah running alongside. Rhys stayed with Ena, and Soren didn’t turn around.

He knew he would be able to speak the ancient language just fine, so the threw himself into his spells, chanting swiftly and fluidly. The sound of his voice and the familiar words did calm him slightly. He locked his gaze on Ike and Mist ahead, but in his mind, they flashed into the shapes of children. Ragnell was a tree branch, and the bodies of Ike’s opponents were mere ferns. Mist’s sword was a piece of straw, and she swung it idly from the back of her horse. The blood pouring around her was nothing but a cascade of flowers. Ike’s clothes were wet not with blood, but because he’d just fallen in a brook.

Soren shook his head more sharply. He needed to stay awake and attentive. He was within range of Disciple archers now. He quickened his pace. A Tornado raged around him, and he blasted distant foes with Blizzard. When he got close enough, he switched to Elwind. Finally he reached his comrades. “Mis- ta-e this,” he called, and she jerked her chin over her shoulder in surprise. Then she wheeled her horse around to meet him.

Oscar and Boyd leapt to defend them, and Mist stared at Soren in alarm, mouthing the words: ‘But I can’t use it!’

Soren felt like an idiot, realizing the fog in his mind hadn’t cleared much at all. He wondered why Elincia, Rhys, and the others had let him march off with the staff and then realized they must have expected him to use it.

Mist was still waiting for him to say something, to do something. Ike had fallen back, away from Hetzel. The mercenaries were regrouping around Mist, Soren, and the precious Restore staff. They were losing the progress they’d made.

“*Restore,*” Soren said, because it was worth a shot. He had never used stave magic before, but he supposed he should technically have some aptitude for it as a magic user. He felt the power being sucked out of him in a burst—as if someone had just hit him from behind with a blunt object, knocking the air from his lungs—even before the pale blue glow sputtered to life.

Mist grinned excitedly. “Soren, you’re a genius!”

He didn’t feel like a genius, but he cut off the flow of power and shoved the rod into Mist’s awaiting hands. He refused to say anything else in the common tongue, so he switched back to the ancient language, intent on using his remaining power to do as much damage as possible.

Mist took control of the situation from here, shouting out the names of her nearest comrades and having them present themselves for restoration one a time.

“Phew!” Ike breathed in relief when it was his turn. “I didn’t realize how hard it would be not to talk!”

“Agreed,” Oscar called in equal relief.

Morale surged among the mercenaries, and they raced back to confront Hetzel’s guards. Soren was chanting Bolganone and Thoron spells, and when he finally set eyes on the old senator again, he saw the man was cowering in fear and clutching both staves to his chest. He’d stopped using them and perhaps knew he was moments from death. With another Bolganone spell, Soren split the tiles and made a channel straight to the senator. When the molten stone cooled a moment later, Ike ran across it, his sword raised to strike Hetzel down.

“Wait, please!” he squealed. “I never wanted to fight… I’m here only because I was ordered!”

“Then surrender your weapons,” Ike replied, keeping his sword raised.

Soren scrambled to help defeat the remaining guards. Tibarn, Ranulf, and the others were here now, and the Hawk King was ferociously clawing the Disciples to shreds.

“I-I cannot do that,” Hetzel finally answered. “I would fall into disgrace with the Goddess.”

Ike only hesitated a moment longer, and Soren wondered if he was thinking about Rafiel. But he made his decision—and stabbed Hetzel through the chest.

“Save…me,” he choked before dying. “My Goddess… Help…”

When the rest of Hetzel’s guards were dead, Ike pointed his sword at Lekain and the remaining forces. “Let’s go help!” he ordered, and everyone ran toward where Elincia, Sanaki, Skrimir, and Micaiah were unleashing an impressive two-sided assault on Lekain’s close-knit guards. They had nearly reached him when he suddenly raised his Rewarp staff, teleporting himself to the other end of the hall.

“Coward!” Sanaki snarled.

“Fan out!” Ike ordered, even while he grappled with a Disciple shield knight, “He can’t escape all of us!”

“Empress Sanaki, up here!” Elincia called, reaching down to lend the young woman her hand. She pulled her onto the saddle, and they set off in pursuit of Lekain. Tibarn, meanwhile, was going around the opposite side, and Micaiah and Sothe were racing down the middle.

Despite the fact that his remaining guards were being killed and he was now on the run, Lekain was still laughing as if this were all a splendid game. He was using his Rewarp staff in earnest now, moving soldiers from in front of the mercenaries to behind them and even trying to move the mercenaries themselves. “Watch the ground!” Ike ordered, but it wasn’t in time to prevent Sothe from accidentally stepping in one of the purple rings. In an instant, he was transported high in the air, and Micaiah stopped in her tracks, screaming his name. Fortunately, Tibarn merely adjusted course and caught him before he could fall into the abyss.

Meanwhile, Soren had surrounded himself in a Tornado spell and was fighting off Disciples no matter if they attacked him from the front or back. Lekain was obviously enjoying himself, transporting his soldiers one, two, or three at a time from one location to the next, even if he only moved them a couple yards. Despite his fun, this was a poor plan. The Disciples never knew where they were being moved to, so they were taken off guard just as much as the mercenaries. However, the mercenaries were more adaptable, and soon all of the soldiers were dead.

Turning his attention to the other end of the hall, Soren saw Sanaki leap from Elincia’s saddle, catch herself in a roll, and pop back onto her feet. She must have been chanting before the jump, because as soon as she was standing, she released a Cymbeline spell. “Burn, you traitor!” she screamed.

Lekain, however, was agile for his age and managed to avoid each of the fiery tendrils. “Watch your tongue, girl!” he scolded her and chanted: “*Irradiate, spirits of Light, and annihilate. Ravage all you encompass*!” Soren recognized the words as belonging to Rexaura—the most powerful of light spells.

Sanaki had started chanting at the same time and countered with Rexflame. They were evenly matched, trading such enormous waves of white light and crimson flame that it was difficult to watch. The air rippled with heat, and Micaiah and Sothe both pulled to a stop, unable to get any closer. Elincia and Tibarn flapped above the duel, also unable to intervene.

Skrimir, Ike, and the rest were jogging down the length of the battlefield, and Soren was among them. But there was no urgency in their gait. Soren knew the fight would be over by the time they arrived, and it was.

Sanaki’s gown and cape were singed with holes and the skin on her face, neck, arm, and chest was mottled with painful-looking blisters. But she was alive, and the same could not be said for Lekain. The Vice Minister’s head was hardly more than a burnt skull with shreds of black skin and a few strands of charred hair still attached. 

Evidently stunned, Sanaki fell to her knees. Elincia landed her pegasus and grabbed the uninjured portion of the empress’s face. “How’s your eye? Can you see?” she asked, waving her hand. Without waiting for an answer, she withdrew her Heal staff.

Meanwhile, Micaiah and Sothe were rummaging among the dead senator’s robes, doubtless looking for the scroll he’d shown off at the beginning of the battle. Sothe was the one who found it. “Micaiah, this is it! It’s… It’s the actual blood pact!”

“At long last…” Micaiah sat back, and her shoulders sagged. “We finally found it. All the misery Daein has suffered over this wretched parchment…”

“I know…” Sothe agreed sadly. After unfurling and reading the paper, he held it out to her. “But with this we can finally free Daein from the curse. C’mon Micaiah… You know what to do.”

“Of course…” Taking it in hand, Micaiah tore the paper down the middle. “…Whew…” Then, for good measure, she whispered a small light spell and the parchment disintegrated. “That’s it.”

“What a relief.” Now it as Sothe who sat back on his butt and seemed to deflate. “No one has to die now.”

“Hey, are you going to explain who was going to die over that little thing?” Ike asked, injecting himself into their conversation. Everyone had gathered around, staring.

“It was a blood pact,” Micaiah answered with a shake of her head. “Lekain used Izuka to trick Pelleas into signing it. If we didn’t obey the Senate, we would have lost one innocent citizen on the first day, two on the second, three on the third, and so on until our entire nation was wiped out as if by a plague…”

“That’s terrible,” Ike said with a shake of his head. “I had no idea.”

“That is why we had to fight you,” Micaiah explained solemnly. “We never wanted to fight, but we didn’t have a choice until we could get close enough to Lekain…”

“I understand,” Ike replied simply. “You had to do what was best for your people.”

Just then, Sothe seemed distracted by Lekain’s robes again, and he rummaged in the corpse’s pockets until he pulled out a second tightly-bound scroll. Opening it, he ran his eyes over the contents. “Micaiah, there’s another pact here,” he explained urgently. “Lekain was carrying two of them. What’s going on?”

Sanaki stepped forward and snatched it out of his hands. She was only half-healed, but she looked better. “I’ll hang onto this,” she said.

“Empress Sanaki?” Micaiah asked, aghast.

“It’s not mine!” she returned defensively. “I promised to return this to its proper owner: Raven King Naesala.” With that, she tucked it into the belt of her torn gown. “Because of this, he was forced to serve the Senate and turn against his allies…” This she addressed to Tibarn, glancing up at him uncertainly.

“So Kilvas, too?” Micaiah shook her head.

“I suppose that explains things…” Tibarn grunted, and Soren wondered if this would be enough for him to forgive Naesala his treachery. But Tibarn was also wrong—this didn’t explain everything. Naesala had supported Daein in the Mad King’s War, when the Begnion senate had had nothing to gain. He wondered if another senator, someone who wanted chaos to wake Yune and Ashera, may have possessed the Raven King’s contract at that time: Prime Minister Sephiran. But he didn’t voice his suspicions now. He was tired, and he still wasn’t sure he was thinking clearly.

Finding himself swaying on his feet, he tried to adjust his stance so he was standing straighter. Only then did he realize that Ike was standing beside him with a hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even felt him put it there when they’d arrived at the scene of Lekain’s demise, and he only felt it now because Ike had moved and tightened his grip to steady him.

“What horrible tactics,” Reyson hissed.

“At least it’s over now,” Ike decreed optimistically. He wasn’t looking at Soren, but his hand was still there. “The pacts can be destroyed, and there’s no more senate to blackmail anyone.”

“Yes. Lekain’s treachery ran deep,” Sanaki agreed, “but at least it’s finally over. I’m happy for everyone.”

“As am I,” Micaiah added, finally getting to her feet.

Sothe stood too, but he wasn’t smiling like her. “Sorry to have to remind you all,” he said, “but if we don’t save everyone who’s been petrified, then this is all pretty pointless.”

“Well spoken,” Sanaki sighed. “We can’t stop until everyone is free! The Goddess awaits.” She turned her gaze to the grand doors at the opposite end of the hall.

“No, let’s rest up here,” Ike said, raising his hands as if to hold everyone back (which meant finally releasing Soren). “I don’t know what else we’ll find in this tower, but I have a feeling we’re not done fighting yet. That Lekain guy might have thought he was Ashera’s champion, but I bet she has more waiting for us up ahead.”

They remained in the hall an hour or so, and Soren was relieved to find it was easier to track the passage of time now than before the battle. He sat and tried to disentangle his memories from his current surroundings. He gave into the needs of his bone-weary body and forced himself to relax.

Meanwhile, the mercenaries retrieved their supplies, finished healing one another, took naps if they could, ate and drank their rations, and picked over the Disciples’ bodies for unbroken arrows, staves, and other spoils. Soren didn’t know what time it was in the outside world, and no one suggested they make camp for the night (if it was, indeed, night). Soren didn’t suggest it either. As tired as he was, he didn’t feel like he could sleep. Instead he slowly nibbled the fruit and nuts Ilyana had given him and watched the others.

He hadn’t said anything since the battle; he still didn’t trust his voice. Usually he reported to Ike’s side and would help with post-battle triage and planning, but he had immediately left Ike’s side after he called for the team to rest. Now he sat far from the others.

Ike must have noticed his absence, and once his duties were resolved, he approached. “Rhys said you have a concussion?”

Soren shook his head.

Ike’s brow pinched. “Are you sure?”

He said nothing.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Soren still said nothing.

Ike crouched in front of him. “Wait, did you bite off your tongue? Let me see.” Before Soren realized what was happening, Ike’s dirty thumb slipped into his mouth, drawing down his jaw, which was easily done because Soren’s entire face slackened in surprise.

However, Soren then sputtered and pushed his hand and arm away. “It’s nothing like that!”

Ike looked relieved, and Soren was too because he had just pronounced every word in that exclamation correctly.

“That’s good,” Ike sighed. “You had me worried.”

Soren took some deep breaths. “I…I can speak.”

Ike stared at him quizzically. “Of course you can. Everyone had the curse removed.”

“Maybe I did…hit my head…harder than I thought.” He spoke slowly, grateful for every word that connected to the next without incident, grateful for the familiar rhythm that carried his voice from beginning to end.

Ike nodded and settled himself down. “I’ll sit here with you. Just take it easy. We won’t move out again until you’re ready.”

Although he could speak now, Soren said nothing, because he didn’t want to push him away or betray how desperately he wanted him to stay.

“…I’m sorry,” Ike said quietly after a while.

“Why?” Soren asked in surprise.

“I was covering your retreat. I saw you get hit.” Ike shook his head. “But I couldn’t go to you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You had to hold the ground.”

“Right…” Ike frowned and stared ahead.

Soren said nothing more. 

After a while, Yune took control of Micaiah’s body again, and this was obvious because she jumped up and declared happily for all to hear: “You creatures are made of some tough meat!” Laughing, she spun around. “Why would you ever think you needed apostles or goddesses?”

“Yune,” Ike greeted her, yawning and standing up. He seemed a little brighter after resting. “It almost sounds like you’re happy to see that people don’t need you.”

“The one constant truth of people, Ike,” Yune replied, raising a finger and approaching him, “is that nobody can stop them from changing. People sometimes do things that even the highest divinities couldn’t imagine. That makes me sad…” She frowned. “But that also makes me very happy!” Her frown instantly turned into a smile. “That’s why I love people so much!”

“There are some changes that even a goddess can’t predict or control,” Ike agreed, then wondering aloud: “Maybe Ashera resented that.”

“I don’t know…” Yune shook her head. “But I do know that Ashera loved people. I’m sure of it…” Shaking her head again, she began striding jauntily down the platform. “Come on! You can heal on the way. We still have a long way to go!”

Groaning and sighing, everyone picked themselves up and started moving. Ike returned to Soren and offered his hand. “You okay to move out?”

Soren allowed Ike to help him up. He knew he hadn’t been as badly injured as some of the others. Ike was wrong to fixate on his health just because Rhys had misattributed his aphasia to a head wound. But neither did he correct Ike and explain the situation. If he was honest, he appreciated the attention. “I am fine now. Let’s go.”

The mercenaries and royals fell in step behind Yune. When she reached the door at the end of the platform, she laid her hand on it and pushed, revealing even more stairs. “Up we go!” she said cheerfully, skipping up the first few steps.


	25. CHAPTER 91: MEMORIES

Soren didn’t think the floating stairs and platforms could get any stranger, but they did. Gradually, the vast emptiness began filling with plumes and shreds of curling mist, on which played colored shadows, indistinct but clearly moving. Soren felt he was in a dream, where memories, thoughts, and fantasies swirled together as one. The mist painted scenes, faces, touches, sensations—always too abstract to grasp and yet utterly familiar.

Yune walked with them in Micaiah’s body. “You can look if you want to,” she said, noticing their straying eyes and their whispers. “You can talk about what you see. Just as you would ideas in your own head. They won’t hurt you.”

“What are they?” Ike asked quietly.

“They’re memories,” Yune explained. “Ashera’s power stirs them.”

“Whose memories?” Mia asked uncertainly.

“Some are yours,” Yune answered simply. “Some are others’.” 

“I thought I saw… I thought I saw my brother,” Mia admitted.

“Then that one is probably yours,” Yune replied, apparently oblivious to her emotional distress.

“I thought I saw my home, the old farmhouse where…” Gatrie’s voice lapsed into silence.

“You thought you saw—you saw your thought,” Yune sang. “This is one of Ashera’s most marvelous powers!” She suddenly spun on the spot and gazed around her with wide eyes filled with wonder. Soren suspected she saw the images in the mist more clearly than everyone else. “I’ve always been jealous of her connection to the past. It helps her make decisions, just like my connection to the future. But the future is so much more…unknown.” She tossed her shoulders and continued walking.

“That’s not a bad thing,” Ike proposed gently.

“Of course not! I _love_ the unknown,” Yune laughed.

They walked a while longer, and Soren tried to ignore the mist. The others were chatting amongst themselves, quietly sharing stories and asking each other questions about their pasts. Some of the stories were ones Soren already knew. After all, he’d lived amongst these mercenaries for a decade now. And yet, some were sharing details and feelings they’d never mentioned before.

Elincia described running into the throne room just in time to see Ashnard murder her parents. “Uncle Renning kept trying to cover my eyes, but I wanted to see. I just wanted to see my mother one last time.”

Mia described the flames that had devoured her family’s swordsmanship academy, and her family with it. “There was an arm—I don’t know who’s arm it was—on the window sill. They were so close to getting out.”

Gatrie described the first girl he’d ever loved, and how she had broken her neck falling out of a tree when they were both only twelve years old. “It was my idea… They blamed me.”

Oscar described the disappointment in his captain’s face when he submitted his resignation from the Royal Knights. “He said I was throwing my life away…and for a moment, I believed him.”

Rolf described the day he and Mist had been kidnapped by bandits and he’d so afraid he couldn’t move. “I thought maybe I was already dead, and that was why my body wouldn’t work.”

Rhys described his mothers’ hysterical fits and how he’d started teaching himself how to use a Heal staff because she kept hurting herself on purpose. “She would get a scratch or a rash, and she wouldn’t be able to stop, not even when she tore it wide open. Healing it fast was the only way to stop her.”

Mist described the night Greil had come home after Elena’s death. “It was so late, and it was raining. He was all bandaged up, and his hands were so dirty.”

Boyd described the day he’d left his drunkard father to join a gang at the ripe age of nine (before being adopted by Oscar, of course). “He was passed out on the floor, and I wanted him to wake up so I could tell him I was leaving. He didn’t wake up, so I left.”

Even Shinon loosened his tongue, describing the time his mother had brought him to the woods and left him there. “She said she would feed me if I made it back to the house, but if I didn’t it would be better for everyone. She was always going on about mouths to feed. That’s all she saw when she looked at us kids: just mouths.”

Soren supposed they had all had hard lives, in one way or another. After all, most people with loving families, safe homes, and a chance at a real future wouldn’t give that up to become a mercenary. However, these were only some of the stories that were shared, and as the group continued to climb, they also discussed happy, silly, and tranquil times they’d forgotten and which now came rushing back in vivid detail. The time Shinon had helped Rolf save a kitten and nursed it back to health. The time a stray dog had followed the mercenaries for over a hundred miles, only to hump Gatrie’s leg whenever it found them. The time Oscar had been sick so everyone had taken turns cooking meals—often to inedible results. The time Ike had gotten a rash from a poisonous vine that everyone swore was the exact shape of Crimea. The time Rhys had disturbed a bees’ nest and jumped into a muddy pond. The stories (and random bouts of giddy laughter) continued.

Soren listened to these stories, and although his own mind was awash with memories, he kept his lips clamped firmly shut. He’d never shared them before, and he wasn’t going to now. Too many of his memories were miserable, and he didn’t want any one’s pity. Not even Ashera could weaken his resolve on that matter.

Ike was also keeping relatively quiet, and Soren wondered why he wasn’t avidly sharing stories with the rest. After a long period of silence, he asked Yune: “Are we going the right way?”

“Yes,” Yune answered, pointing straight upward. “Ashera is at the top. We’re going up. This is definitely the right way.”

“I’m a little disoriented because it’s much bigger than it looks from the outside.” Ike shook his head. “It’s not my imagination, is it?”

“Just don’t look around too carefully.” Yune took his hand and patted it. “True miracles can overwhelm and terrify mortal minds. If you dwell on what you see here, you might stop climbing.”

“Really?” Ike asked, looking up at where the stairs disappeared in the distance.

“Yes, really!” She grabbed his chin and pulled his head down so he was looking at her. Giving him a firm glare, she then released his face and kept walking. “Well, for most people, anyway. You’re all exceptions!” She flung out her arms and suddenly turned around so she was facing the whole group. “You’re all focused on your one goal, and you can’t die until you achieve it. That’s what you think, right?”

In answer, everyone either softly murmured or proudly declared their agreement.

“Desire propels people forward!” Yune explained excitedly. “That’s how it’s been since the beginning of your kind. You hope, take, give, kill, struggle… Out of all those needs and desires, hate and strife are born. And that’s alright! You _should_ want. You should strive to fill that want. You should challenge your fates. When all else fails, you can still die fighting!” She raised both of her fists above her head.

“Your philosophy is pretty extreme,” Ike observed. “Ashera doesn’t forgive people for their imperfections. But you embrace both the good and evil natures of people. You seem to enjoy our internal struggles.”

“A straight road is boring,” Yune laughed. “Defeat and destruction are far more interesting than stasis.” With that, she swung her arms around her, twisted on the spot, and resumed walking.

“Huh.” Ike quickened his steps to follow her. “Is there a goddess who takes a more middle-of-the-road approach?”

“Well, long ago…” Yune started to answer, but then she froze in her tracks. This caused Ike and everyone else to stop too. “Wait. Stop, everyone!” she called. Then she turned to Ike, and her expression was grim. “You should know, the next one who stands in our way is someone deeply tied to you.”

Judging by Ike’s firmly set mouth and hungry gaze, Soren knew he was thinking about Zelgius. Fear squirmed within his stomach, but what could he do now? He’d never been able to dissuade Ike from the path of revenge, and what was the point anyway? They would have to defeat Zelgius to continue onward. If Ike was the only one with a sword capable of doing it, why not let him try? But no matter how Soren tried to justify it to himself, he couldn’t accept it.

“…Let’s go,” Ike said simply, resuming the climb.

“No, let’s rest up ahead,” Yune countered, retaking the lead.

“But we are not tired,” Skrimir growled, apparently thinking he could speak for everyone.

“It’s hard to know whether you’re tired or not here,” Yune argued. “Take time to rest and prepare. There are many enemies ahead.”

“Fine,” Ike gave in. “A break doesn’t sound too bad.”

“We can rest there.” Yune pointed to a platform they were nearing but Soren hadn’t noticed until now. When they reached it, everyone spread out on the flat stone floor, sitting in small groups and continuing to talk among themselves. They checked their weapons and stretched their muscles. They ate, drank, and dozed, and no longer were their heads and voices fuzzy with memory.

Soren approached Ike, because he knew this would be his last chance to talk some sense into him. He was currently polishing Ragnell, which shone with a wicked edge. The holy sword was blessed such that it could never dull or break, so it required very little maintenance. Soren imagined buffing it to a shine was the only way Ike could keep his hands busy and feel like he was preparing for his duel.

“Do you feel ready?” Soren asked by way of greeting.

“Yes,” he answered. “I feel like every fight in my entire life has prepared me for this.”

“But that doesn’t mean you _are_ ready,” Soren argued. “You felt confident in Nados too.”

Ike lowered his sword and glanced up. “I am stronger than I was then.”

“But are you strong enough?” he shot back, knowing he was being cruel but also not caring. He sat down and crossed his legs. “Is it even a matter of strength? One thing you have not gained, even after all this time, is the ability to think realistically. You are still just trying to play the hero.”

“Maybe it’s hard for you to see,” Ike growled. “But I’m not a little kid with the pretend sword anymore! Why can’t you just trust I can do this?”

His words were like an electric shock through Soren’s whole body, and he lost the thread of his own argument. Perhaps it was Ashera’s power still confounding his mind, but he suddenly saw a flash of a little boy batting away bushes with a stick. The little boy looked over his shoulder, revealing a gap-toothed smile.

“P-pretend sword…” Soren repeated.

“I meant practice sword,” Ike amended. He sheathed Ragnell. “I was always sparring while you went out on missions. Father wouldn’t let me use a real-”

“Ike… You… Do you…” Soren didn’t even know what he wanted to ask. He had never pushed Ike to remember the years he’d forgotten. But here, in this place, memories were out of anyone’s control.

“Anyway, what I’m saying is that I’m stronger now,” Ike declared firmly, obviously wanting to get the conversation back on topic. “I can do this.”

“Ike, do you remember the day we met?” He asked before he could reconsider and tell himself it was a bad idea. He’d come here to convince Ike not to fight Zelgius alone; this was entirely beside the point.

“No… I mean, I guess. Sort of. It was a long time ago…” Ike’s teeth were gritted, and he seemed at war with himself. Placing Ragnell aside, he stared at the floor between them, and a crease deepened between his eyebrows.

Soren waited a long time for him to say something else, but when his expression didn’t change, he gave up. He suddenly found he didn’t care to save Ike from himself. He would defeat Zelgius or he wouldn’t—nothing Soren said was going to change that. With this thought in mind, he got to his feet. But then Ike’s hand shot out and seized his wrist. He still wasn’t looking at him, but this was enough for Soren to stay a moment longer.

“I remember,” Ike finally said. “I remember what happened in Gallia…how we first met.”

Soren could hardly believe what he was hearing, and he might have been elated if not for the obvious pain in Ike’s face. Of course, he’d suppressed these memories for a reason.

“My mom, she… My mom…” he struggled to begin. “Mom took me and Mist shopping. I…slipped away. I entered the forest, looking for a stick I could pretend was a sword… And I found this black-haired kid.” Ike finally looked at him, and the depth of his gaze knocked out Soren’s legs. He fell to his knees. Ike released his arm but continued his story: “The boy looked like he was my age, but he was skinny as a twig. He was wearing rags, and his whole body was covered in dirt. He looked like he was about to die… So I gave him my lunch.”

Although Soren had always hoped Ike might remember their lost years, he’d had no idea how painful it would be to have his own past recounted through Ike’s eyes—or as cathartic. Even while the nightmare replayed in his mind, it was oddly consoling to see it play out.

“The boy was like a scared animal at first,” Ike continued, “but he couldn’t resist the food. It was like he’d never eaten anything before in his life. I only had so much on me, so I wanted him to come back to my house. But he just kept shaking his head… So I told the boy I would bring him more food tomorrow, and that he should wait for me at the same time and place. He nodded, and… That was the first time I’d helped someone else, so I felt happy. I felt like I was doing the right thing.” Ike dropped his head into his hands.

“I was happy too,” Soren finally said. “Not because I wasn’t hungry anymore, but because there was someone who had purposefully spoken to me, someone who had purposefully helped me… I was very happy.”

“Right…” Ike lifted his head sadly, as if remembering. “That was in Gallia. People were scared of anything having to do with laguz. I wasn’t even supposed to go into the forest.”

“Yes,” Soren agreed, “back then, people called me a demon and threw rocks at me. I was afraid to go into town, because I thought they would hit me.”

“Soren…”

“I was trying to go to Crimea, and in the forest, I would sometimes stumble upon the beast tribe. They were terrifying, but they never attacked me. Eventually I realized they were pretending I wasn’t there. They would just look through me, and that was worse than if they had attacked me. Hate I could understand. But this was denial. They made me feel like I wasn’t supposed to exist at all, that simply being alive was an affront to the world… That was how the beasts treated me, and I hated them for it.”

“I am so sorry, Soren.” Ike finally met his gaze. “I had no idea it was that bad.”

He shook his head, not wanting the pity in Ike’s eyes. “But you didn’t ignore me or hurt me. You were just kind. You, and your family.”

“You lived with us,” Ike said numbly, and by his expression, Soren knew his memories were all coming back. “You lived with me and Mist, my father, and my- my mother.”

Soren nodded once.

“You knew her,” Ike said in disbelief. “Why did you never say anything?”

“You forgot her,” Soren replied honestly, “and Greil thought it best if I didn’t…pressure you into remembering. I thought it was best too.”

“Why- why did you leave?” Ike asked next, seeming to rack his brain.

“One day, when we were living in Crimea,” Soren began slowly. “I walked into town, and there were bodies everywhere. There were villagers, and soldiers in armor…”

“The medallion.” Ike’s eyes widened in shock. “Father…”

“I didn’t know if you were alive, so I checked the bodies one by one. Ike, I… I saw Elena give her life to get the medallion away from Greil. That was the only thing that stopped him. Then I ran back to the house. You and Mist were both alive, but…I couldn’t stay after that.”

Ike nodded as if remembering. “That night…you asked me to run away.”

“I was just a scared kid,” Soren admitted, upon which a prickling sensation rose behind his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Even when Volke told me the truth…”

“What more could I add?” he returned. “I thought it would only hurt you… And I didn’t want you to be angry at me for keeping it a secret.” 

Ike was silent for a while, but then he nodded. “I understand.” After even more silence, he asked, “So…why did you come back?”

“I wandered Crimea for years…” Soren began, but he didn’t actually want to tell Ike about those hard years alone. He tried to find something positive to say. “I stayed at a temple for a while. The priests thought my Brand was the mark of Spirit’s Protection, just like my old master. They took care of me…for a while. But I never stayed anywhere long. Life was…very difficult without you and Greil,” he admitted, and he wondered if Ike could understand all the things he wasn’t saying. “Eventually I found you again.”

“But I didn’t…”

“You didn’t remember me,” Soren supplied, and he was struggling to fight the pressure behind his eyes now. “But I was still happy. I was happy to see you again… I just wanted to be with the boy who’d held out his hand to me.”

Now Ike’s hand touched his, and it was the same one Soren had always known: so warm and unbelievably gentle despite its size and roughness. “Soren, don’t cry.”

“Cry?” Soren repeated, thinking he would know if he were crying. He touched his cheek and was surprised to find tears there. He hadn’t even felt them falling.

“You may be clever,” Ike whispered with a smile in his voice, “but sometimes you’re completely oblivious.”

“What?” Soren tried to wipe the tears away, but more replaced them.

“Come here,” Ike tugged his arm. When he didn’t move, he pulled his own body across the floor until he was cradling Soren in a hug between his chest and his knee.

“No,” Soren tried halfheartedly to pull away, “don’t treat me like a child. I’m not…”

“I know.”

At that, Soren couldn’t protest. He just sat there limply.

“Really,” Ike said, and he chin lowered to graze Soren’s shoulder, “why do you always have to make me so worried?”

Now Soren leaned into him, surrendering to being held. He managed to wrap his arms around Ike’s back in return, and he smothered his crying eyes in his shoulder.

“It’s all in the past, Soren,” Ike consoled. In response, he just cried.

When he woke, he realized he must have fallen sleep. He felt warm and safe despite the fact that he was lying on the stone floor of a floating platform in some sort of nether-space inside the Tower of Guidance. But this comfort was due to the fact that he was still in Ike’s arms (who was also sleeping).

Trying not to disturb him, Soren extracted himself, stood, and glanced around, wondering if anyone had seen. Although most others were sleeping too, some were awake, chatting softly, kicking their feet over the edge, or just sitting quietly together. Yune was the only one walking around, and seeing Soren, she approached him.

“I told you you all needed sleep!” she said brightly. “Meat brains are like that—they get all mushy if they don’t rest.”

Soren wished she would speak more quietly so not to wake Ike, but it was too late. He was pulling himself up now. “How long were we asleep?” he yawned.

“Time is irrelevant!” Yune chirped. “There’s still time to defeat Ashera, and that’s all that matters.”

Ike nodded firmly. “Wake the others. Zelgius is waiting for us.”

Yune gave an exaggerated salute and marched off. Soren watched her go, suddenly nervous to be alone with Ike. Glancing at him now, he was relieved to see that Ike looked at him with no stranger an expression than usual.

“Isn’t this the part where you tell me not to fight him alone?” he asked, stifling another yawn. “Then I tell you I’m not fighting him alone, and you tell me I should let more people help than just Mist?”

Soren didn’t appreciate the fact that Ike was making light of such a legitimate concern, but he signed and answered honestly: “I think I have given up on that. You are going to do it your own way, no matter what I say.”

This response seemed to surprise Ike. “Okay then… Though, this time I was going to let you help.”

“What?” Soren wondered if this was some sort of joke.

“You were part of the family…for a time,” Ike explained softly. “If you want to help avenge him…”

Soren sighed. “That is not the point, Ike. I don’t care about revenge.”

“Oh…”

“Zelgius is your foe. He wants to fight you, and you want to fight him. But just remember: we aren’t here for Zelgius. We are here for Ashera. He’s done a lot of bad things, but she has done worse. Save your strength for the final battle.”

Ike stared at him for several moments but then blinked and nodded. “I’ll take down Zelgius with time to spare,” he promised.

“Then let’s go.” Soren gestured for him to lead, only then adding: “I trust you.”

Yune led them up the stairs until they were approaching what appeared to be a giant box. The solid black square grew larger and larger until it blocked out even the abyss surrounding them. The stairs were leading straight into it, and when they arrived, Yune opened the door and left Micaiah’s body, saying only: “Good luck, Ike! Whether you live, die, or lose yourself will be fascinating to see.”

“Wait, what does that mean?” Ike asked, but it was too late. Micaiah was standing there, looking embarrassed

“Um, she’s gone… Shall we?” She gestured at the open door and steps beyond.

These stairs were enclosed in a stone passage and led to a grand stone hall enclosed on all sides. This place felt much more solid than the other platforms, and Soren could almost imagine they were back in Tellius. Although there were no windows, the same silvery blue light illuminated the hall. It was empty except for a single person standing at the center: the Black Knight.

“You’ve come,” he said, and although his voice was warbled by his helmet, it was unmistakably Zelgius’s. “Welcome, son of Gawain. Welcome all, courageous warriors.”

“ _ARRGH!_ ” Ike roared, running forward at full speed with his sword drawn. Zelgius blocked easily, and they pressed against each other, vying for leverage, until Ike broke away and jumped back. Zelgius didn’t pursue.

“I wonder how I didn’t notice,” Ike spat. “Your composure, bearing, voice…”

Zelgius said nothing.

“I wish I’d had the chance to fight you, General.” Ike shook his head. “It seems obvious in retrospect.”

“Unfortunately for both of us, that opportunity never came.”

“So it really is you. The Black Knight… No, General Zelgius!” Ike adjusted the grip on his sword.

Planting his own blade in the floor, Zelgius removed his helmet. It would have been a perfect time to attack, but Soren knew Ike wouldn’t. The rest of the royals and mercenaries hung back—even Mist who wheeled her horse back and forth as if pacing.

“Ike, I have long looked forward to the day we would fight again. Now that it is here, let us not delay any longer.” After nodding respectfully, he returned his helmet to his head and retook his blade. He started walking backward. “Raise your sword, and begin!”

“Let’s finish this!” Ike agreed, advancing. “C’mon Mist,” he said, and she kicked her horse into a run.

However, no sooner had Ike and Zelgius passed the hall’s halfway mark than a barrier of blue light appeared across the middle of the room.

“No!” Soren couldn’t help but cry, and he wasn’t alone.

Mist’s horse reared in fright, barely stopping in time. She was nearly thrown, and as soon as her steed quieted, she leapt off and banged her fist against the barrier. “Ike!”

“What did you do?” he demanded.

“I wish only to fight you,” was Zelgius’s reply “I won’t allow anyone to interfere.”

“Ike…” Mist called, apparently giving up. She held her palm against the translucent barrier. “Be careful!”

“I will,” Ike promised without turning around. “Trust me, alright?”

“…Alright.” Mist backed away reluctantly.

“It’s better this way,” Ike growled, addressing Zelgius. “Now I can focus on you.”

“No draw. No escape. One wins. One loses,” the general replied. “We shall end this. One of us will live—” he raised the tip of his blade, the holy sword Alondite “—and one of us will die.”

“I’m ready,” Ike agreed, raising Ragnell to match. “Goodbye, General Zelgius.”

Zelgius moved first, faster than he should have given his armor, but Ike caught the strike and parried. Soren watched with such rapt attention, he almost didn’t notice the Disciples approaching. But a moment later, the wave of beorc spilled into the room from the stairwells on either side.

“Form up!” Elincia shouted.

“Look alive!” Tibarn seconded.

“Defensive positions!” Mist cried out, leaping onto her saddle and racing back to rejoin the others before the Disciples could reach her.

Everyone knew what to do, dropping their supplies and drawing their weapons. Tibarn, Reyson, and Elincia took to the air. Skrimir, Ranulf, Ena, and Kurthnaga transformed. Shinon and Rolf began firing arrows as quickly as they could. Micaiah and Rhys starting casting Purge spells around the stairwell entrances, minimizing the flow. Sothe guarded Micaiah, and Gatrie raised his shield, protecting Sanaki, who started chanting Cymbeline and Rexflame spells. Mia cut an arrow straight out the air, her sword arm moving almost too fast to see. Boyd drew his axes and charged with Oscar pulling ahead of him, lance raised. Mist rounded her horse to confront the encroaching Disciples as soon as she reached the others. She already had her sabre drawn, and now she struck and stabbed whomever she could reach, while her steed reared and bucked, crushing bone with steel-shod hooves.

Soren wished he could continue watching Ike fight, but his duel with Zelgius was completely obscured by the Disciples. He had no choice but to open his tome and lend his strength to the fight.

“Eliminate the mercenaries!” shouted the Disciples’ leader. Unlike the others, he was still wearing the red armor of Begnion. Soren recognized him as the young general who’d accompanied Zelgius in Gaddos. Levail was his name, if he remembered correctly. “That is the mandate of our Goddess,” he continued, “But even more importantly, that is the order of your General. Fight with honor, proud soldiers of Begnion!”

These Disciples were no pushovers, and although their numbers were less than the forces deployed by Lekain and Hetzel below, they were much harder to defeat. Despite their best efforts, the mercenaries could take no ground and remained clustered in a defensive ring around the hall’s entrance. “*Glaciate, spirits of wind, and lacerate. Ravage all you encompass,*” Soren incanted, trying to isolate all of Rexcalibur’s power on just a few enemies at a time. Those who fell to their stomachs managed to avoid the prism’s grasp and the blades of wind that followed, but those who didn’t were successfully torn to pieces.

But in this way Soren expended a great amount of power just to take out one or two opponents at a time; he was hardly slowing their advance. Meanwhile, other Disciples were dodging or shielding themselves from Shinon and Rolf’s arrows and Sanaki’s fireballs, and one soldier even had the strength to raise his shield against a direct blast from Kurthnaga. The man’s legs remained firm while the stone tiles cracked around him, and he was pushed into a crater. But he remained strong, and his enchanted shield and armor remained intact.

Apparently frustrated, Kurthnaga ceased the beam and chomped down on soldier instead. The Disciple managed to imbed his sword in the dragon’s lower jaw, stabbing right though his black gums and scaly lips, before dying. Kurthnaga shook his head, roaring angrily, until the sword flung out and hit the wall.

Soren kept chanting, pushing back the Disciples with moats of lava and stunning them with bolts of electricity. However, those who noticed the ground heating under their feet were agile enough to jump back, and those who noticed the air crackling above their heads ducked low and used their weapons as lightning rods. Frustrated, Soren began duel casting with precision, using two spells to take out each soldier.

He would stun them with lightning at the same time he cut them with winds, he would force them to retreat with fire at the same time he struck them with lightning, or he would force them to fall away from the winds at the same time he burned them from above or below with fire or lava. These soldiers may have been well-trained and quick-thinking, but there was little they could do if attacked twice at once. Soren was straining the limits of his own ability, but to his surprise, he found he had more energy left than he imagined. He could cast one more time, two more times. He could keep going.

Whenever there was a gap in the Disciple’s ranks, he would glance at Ike’s duel and still see him trading furious blows with Zelgius. Grateful Ike was still alive, frustrated that he couldn’t help, but reminding himself that he had to believe in his commander—he always turned his gaze back to the battle before his inattention lost him his head.

Eventually Levail himself joined the fray, wielding a wicked-looking halberd whose tip was a long blade that came to a find fine point. He spun it with ease, blocking and countering whatever strike his opponents tried to make. The prong and ax-blade were deadly enough, but then Levail would twist his grip at the last second, and the point would dart out like a snake, flicking open deep wounds with grace.

Mia struck him with her sword, but the tip opened her cheek from lip to ear. Boyd struck him with his axe, but Levail unzipped him from groin to knee. Sothe tried to get under his guard with his knives, but he merely slit him from throat to sternum. Tibarn attacked from above with his talons, but Levail nearly removed one of his wings, sending him flopping to the ground. Soren couldn’t believe the Hawk King had been bested so easily, and now he understood why this man had been named general so young.

When Sanaki stepped up to him, Soren thought the empress would certainly be killed. Her footwork was the weakest among them, and Levail was too fast.

“General Levail, stop this at once!” she ordered, and although the man hesitated, he didn’t lower his halberd.

“No,” he finally answered, “I serve only Zelgius now, and he commanded I afford no mercy, even to you, Apostle.” With that, he darted in for a strike.

But Sanaki had already been holding onto a Cymbeline spell, and Soren could see the waves of heat contorting the air. She didn’t even try to move out of the way. The tip of the spear plunged into her gut, and Sanaki seized the handle before Levail could tear the wound. At the same moment, she finally released the spell, and Soren had to shield his eyes from the explosion.

When the flames and smoke cleared, Levail was lying on the floor with the dreadful halberd on the ground beside him, and Sanaki was standing over him, holding the puncture would in her stomach. The general’s armor was scorched black and his entire body was burned, but still he was trying to rise. “General Zelgius,” he coughed. “I’d hoped…to fight for you…a while longer…” With that, he collapsed and died.

Sanaki swayed, but Skrimir lunged to her side, reverting his form and catching her before she could fall. “He was still…my soldier,” the young empress murmured, “…my responsibility.”

While Micaiah, Rhys, and Elincia healed Sanaki, Mia, Boyd, and Tibarn, the others finished off the remaining Disicples and Soren turned his attention to the other side of the hall. The barrier was still up, but Ike and Zelgius were no longer fighting. Running for a closer look, Soren prayed Ike was the victor, but he didn’t know what or whom he was praying to.

What he saw, beyond the wall of blue light, was a long streak of dark blood parallel to a thinner trail beside it. Like twilit shadows, these led to two bodies much smaller than the trails themselves. 

At the end of the large smear was Zelgius, who was sitting against the wall. He must have dragged himself there, unable to walk. Nearby was Ike, hunched over one knee, leaning on his sword for support. The second blood trail led to him, and because it hadn’t been smudged across the floor, Soren deduced Ike had walked to where he was. If Ike could walk while the general crawled, did that make Ike the victor?

Neither man was moving now, but Soren didn’t think either was dead. They seemed to be talking to one another, but Soren couldn’t hear a word. As he watched, blood pooled around them both. Ike was running out of time; he needed a healer.

“Brother…” Mist whispered beside him. She had Micaiah’s Physic stave in hand. “*Physic*,” she commanded, but nothing happened. “I can’t reach him!”

“Allow me,” said Micaiah’s voice, and turning toward her, Soren saw Yune in her eyes. Laying her hand against the barrier, she shattered it in an instant.

Soren and Mist ran to Ike’s side. He looked over his shoulder at their approach, but his face was ashen. “It’s done…” he said, and Soren noticed Zelgius’s helmet was off and his eyes half-closed in death.

“*Physic*,” Mist commanded again, and this time the green light fell upon Ike. When she reached him, he collapsed and his sword clattered to away. But Mist merely pulled him into her lap. “Hang on, Ike, I’m here,” she consoled through tears.

“I-Ike…” Soren choked, but he stepped uselessly to the side. He may have managed a Restore staff in the previous battle, but he was no healer. Only Mist could help him now.

While Soren stood there, hardly restraining his panic, Yune walked over to assess Zelgius’s corpse. “Good job!” she congratulated Ike. “I knew you could do it! Well, I was at least fifty percent sure,” she chuckled, “I certainly hoped you would!”

“It had to be done,” Ike murmured weakly, revealing he was still conscious, “I couldn’t die here… Zelgius might not have had anything…more to do, but…I still have…so much…”

As his wounds closed up under Mist’s care, he seemed to regain some strength and coherence. (And Soren felt he could finally breathe.) Ike tried to get up, but Mist pulled him back down. “Just lie still a moment,” she said. “You deserve a rest. “

“I’m sorry, Mist,” he said, his eyes flickering to hers.

She commanded the Physic staff a second time and then shook her head. “It’s fine. It’s over. It doesn’t change anything.”

Ike inclined his head sadly. “I know, but now I can finally…put Father to rest. I don’t have to…carry him anymore.” With that, tears beaded at the corners of his eyes and started spilling over. “…I miss him.”

“Me too,” Mist agreed, not letting the green light fade. “I miss him all the time.”

By now, the rest of the team was approaching, and they remained quiet as they observed the siblings. Then, one by one, they approached Ike and touched his arm, his shoulder, the top of his head. They whispered words of encouragement and congratulation.

When Ike was finally well enough to stand, Mist backed away. “Let’s move on,” he said, reaching for his fallen sword. “We don’t have much time left.” However, before his fingertips touched the hilt, the blade started glowing. “What?”

Soren’s gaze was drawn to Zelgius’s sword, which was also glowing beside his corpse. “The swords are calling to each other,” Yune observed, as if this were a perfectly ordinary occurrence. She walked over and plucked the blade out of the blood pool. “The holy sword Alondite… It’s the counterpart to your sword, Ragnell. Both were wielded by Altina to defeat me… I think it wants you to take it up.” With that, she turned the sword around and offered the hilt to Ike.”

Ike picked up his own sword and sheathed it before accepting Alondite from Yune. But then he turned to Mist. “Would you wield it?”

In answer, she just held out her hands, and Ike gently laid it across them. “These blades have taken a lot from us…” she whispered. “But we can use them to take a lot more from Ashera.”

“We will,” Ike agreed. He took a step away and winced as if still in pain. He was so covered in blood, his armor so rent, and his mail and clothes torn, Soren couldn’t tell if he’d been completely healed underneath.

“Can you still fight?” Yune asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Yes,” Ike answered, standing straighter. “I will keep fighting. I won’t stop until I die.” With that, he limped past her to address the awaiting group. “Let’s keep moving!” he said. “Take what you need from the fallen Disciples. We move out in ten.”

The group nodded and dispersed. Mist came up beside Ike (having just removed Zelgius’s sword belt and taken Alondite’s scabbard as her own). Throwing the belt over her shoulder, she held her staff in one hand and used the other to support him as they walked away.

Yune, however, lingered by Zelgius’s corpse, and although Soren wanted to be with Ike now, he lingered too. Yune’s eyes were closed, and she seemed riveted to the spot, even while her head and shoulders started to sway. “Who- whose memory was that?” she finally murmured. “It’s one of many… They’re swirling everywhere…” She opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. “The tower resonates with their strength. But…who is that? Who do they belong to? …There is such sadness.” She turned her gaze to Zelgius’s body, and her expression was sympathetic. “Zelgius met someone. One lonely soul calling out to another… But he’s no longer with us. Zelgius is gone… And now the soul that remains is alone once more …”

“What are you talking about?” Soren decided to ask, although he was fairly certain she wasn’t addressing him.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “But there are someone’s memories interspersed among the rest. Someone else in this tower who has known nothing but loneliness for a long, long time.”

“I suppose we will have to fight them,” he sighed. “If they stand between us and Ashera.”

This response seemed to improve Yune’s mood, and she brightened. “Yes, that is most likely. Through fighting we can see whose conviction is greater!”

“You really are the goddess of chaos, aren’t you?” Soren thought aloud. “You feel pain, cause pain, but you don’t care as long as it entertains you.”

Yune appeared offended. “I care,” she countered, “I always care.”

“Of course. It wouldn’t be entertaining if you didn’t.”

“I just…don’t want to be alone,” Yune said softly. Tears sprung to her eyes, and a moment later, they were Micaiah’s eyes. She blinked and wiped away the moisture in surprise. “What did you say to her?”

“Probably something rude,” Soren sighed, waving his hand. “But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true.” He walked away, wanting to see how Ike was doing.


	26. CHAPTER 92: KING OF DRAGONS

They continued to climb the seemingly endless stairs, stopping to rest briefly and rarely. No one knew how long they’d been here, and they ventured guesses ranging from five hours to five days. Soren tried to make an estimate based on the food and water they’d already consumed, but this varied from person to person, and some people were amazed to find that they still possessed food they thought they’d already eaten. Sometimes, they wondered aloud about their friends and comrades fighting outside the tower, but there was no way to know how they fared.

They walked a long time without encountering any more Disciples of Order, and eventually Yune came back to check on them. “How dull,” she sighed, “I don’t sense any enemies nearby. I know! Would you all like me to tell you a story as we climb?”

“What kind of story?” Ike asked. (He walked steadily now, having mostly recovered from his battle with Zelgius.)

“One from long ago,” Yune answered, “long before the grandparents of anyone here were born... In the very beginning of this world, there was only water, until one day a girl appeared. The girl was very clever, and she forged the first land. Then she made trees and flowers, and even animals.”

“The girl was you, right, Yune?” Ike guessed, “Or are you talking about Ashera?”

“Both, really…and neither, actually,” Yune explained, “At first, the girl was excited about her new world, and she thought of little else. Then she started feeling lonely. Everyone—every being she created—was different from her. Not a single one could truly understand her. All alone, she grew sadder and sadder, crying for thousands of years. Then some creatures began to grow and change, becoming cleverer and more sophisticated. They tried to comfort the girl and eventually grew closer to her… That was the birth of the Zunanma. They were your ancestors…beorc, laguz, everyone.”

This was the first time Soren had heard for certain that the name Zunanma belonged to a people rather than a place, although he’d suspected it since the Kauku Caves. He listened to Yune’s story with interest.

“In Begnion,” Sanaki countered curiously, “I was taught that the Zunanma were humans- um, I mean, beorc. It makes me wonder what else in my country has been warped beyond recognition.”

“It’s possible that the truth was simply misunderstood,” Yune replied diplomatically, “like the way everyone calls me a dark god. But let me keep going… The Zunanma worshipped the girl as their own goddess, even though she didn’t create them directly. They said her hair was as striking a color as dawn’s first light, so they gave her a name: the Goddess of Dawn, Ashunera. She was a much-loved goddess.”

“The Goddess of Dawn…” Ike repeated thoughtfully.

“The Zunanma continued to evolve and change, giving rise to a variety of races and tribes across the land. Naturally, each one thought their own was superior to the others, and conflict arose between them. The goddess tried to make peace among the people, but nothing could stop the warring Zunanma. Trying to separate the factions, the goddess gave them different names: laguz and beorc… But this only intensified their conflict. And then…the great flood occurred. The goddess was only trying to bring an end to the fighting. But her power was so great that all the continents were drowned in the flood, all except Tellius.”

“Are you sure about this story?” Ike asked suspiciously. “It’s very different from the histories that we’ve each been taught.” Soren also suspected Yune may be twisting events to cast herself in a more favorable light.

“Among beorc nations,” Elincia added, “we only know a vague fairytale about the dark god stirring up a great disaster.” She glanced at Yune apologetically, but there was a bit of reservation in her face, as if she wasn’t entirely convinced Yune was absolved of her part in the drowning of the world.

“Neither the laguz nor the beorc have an accurate depiction by the sound of it,” Kurthnaga proposed, and Soren wondered what his father might have told him growing up. “I wonder where the story got twisted.”

Yune suddenly stopped, and that caused everyone else to stop too. “There is another standing in our way…” She turned her face up to where the stairs turned into a series of staggered, curling platforms. Soren squinted at the disembodied stairs and hallways, some of which doubled back while others led nowhere, ending suddenly. It was hard to gauge their size from here, and he could only see the undersides coming in and out of view in the swirling mist. “…I have a feeling he might be able to tell us,” Yune proposed softly.

Suddenly Kurthnaga’s face grew sallow, and he seized the sides of his head, falling to his knees. “Fa-Father?” he hissed. Ena winced, closing her eyes and twisting her neck as if fighting off some sensation the others couldn’t feel. Perhaps it was merely sympathetic, but Soren imagined he felt a prickling on his skin and the hairs standing on the back of his neck.

“Huh?” Ike stepped toward Kurthnaga. “You okay?”

Taking a few deep breaths, the prince got back to his feet. “My father… Just ahead, my father is waiting. He knows we’re here.” Ena also seemed to shake off the telesthesic assault, but her shoulders were still bunched and she hugged her belly protectively. 

“Dheginsea, King of Goldoa,” Ike thought aloud, turning his gaze to the maze of platforms in the distance. “He’s supposed to be one of the three who defeated the dark god… Yune.” He turned to her, and there was an obvious question in his voice.

Yune, however, ignored the question. “He has been blessed by Ashera,” she said instead. “Not only that, but it’s a powerful, resilient blessing from long ago. He may be nearly impossible to defeat… Let’s get everyone together.” She gestured with her hands that everyone should line up. “There’s no better time than now.”

“Everyone, gather ‘round!” Ike repeated the order, and they all rearranged themselves and drew closer. “So…what are we doing?” he turned to Yune.

“I was hoping to avoid this until we reached Ashera… Actually, I hoped not to have to do it at all—” she shrugged “—but she left me no choice. I will give you the blessings of Yune, the goddess of chaos and freedom. In their natural state, the attacks of mortal creatures have no effect on divine beings. When Ashera set out to defeat me, she gathered her strongest warriors and bestowed on them some of her power: the Goddess’s Blessing.”

“Like what you did to me and Micaiah?” Ike asked.

“Similar, yes, but this should be much stronger, and I will bless your weapons and armor so your bodies need not feel the burden,” Yune answered.

“What about us laguz?” Tibarn asked.

“I will bind the blessing to your transformation magic,” Yune answered in a voice that indicated that that should have been obvious. “You’ll be stronger and more resilient in your animal shapes.”

“That sound very useful!” Skrimir approved.

“A long time ago,” Yune continued in a sad voice. “Ashera empowered the dual swords of the beorc swordswoman Altina. The laguz warrior Soan, the heron curate Lehran, and the prince of the dragon tribe Dheginsea were also blessed. I failed them… But this time will be different! I’ll use Ashera’s own tricks, and I won’t be defeated. Everyone, take some time now to ready yourselves. Beorc, be sure to equip your best weapons. I’ll begin when everyone’s ready.”

At her words, everyone began fumbling with their supplies. Shinon and Rolf were each filling a quiver with their best arrows, and Boyd seemed torn between his two favorite axes. Ike and Mist were asking Yune if Ragnell and Alondite could receive a second blessing, and Sanaki seemed to be waiting to ask a question: “What of us mages?” she asked once Ike and Mist’s concerns were addressed. Soren stepped closer, because he was wondering the same thing.

“You need only pick one spell,” Yune explained. “I’ve asked Micaiah, and she wants me to bless one of the Rexaura spells she took from that bully Lekain.”

Sanaki nodded hesitantly. “Then I shall choose Rexflame. Am I correct in assuming the spell will never fade or lose its power?”

“That’s right!”

“Incredible…” Sanaki cascaded the pages of her spell book past her thumb. Half the sheets were full of gray, blurry letters, already spent.

Soren withdrew his own tome, which was extremely worn and full of mismatched pages. The spine had been sewn and resewn, glued and re-glued many times. Some of the pages were made of animal parchment, others fibrous paper. Some spells were written in large, looping script, others tiny cursive letters, and still others in print runes that read vertically. Some pages were stained with rainwater, others with blood, and still others with mud and dirt. The book had weathered many battles in Soren’s hands. Some of the pages were actually scrolls of varying sizes and lengths, which had been folded and tucked into the binding. But he didn’t mind; this was just the tome of a mercenary. Flipping to one of his remaining pages of Rexcalibur spells, he decided he would present one of these to Yune.

“We mages do not wear armor,” Sanaki pointed out next, regaining Soren’s attention.

“I’ve noticed that.” Yune tapped her chin, looking at Sanaki, Soren, and then down at Micaiah’s body. “You fight in naught but your shirtsleeves! A strange decision for such puncturable organ-bags. But no worries—I can bless your robes and cloaks! It won’t stop a direct attack, but it should help against some dragon breath!” She then seemed to rethink her claim. “Well…a bit. Maybe. Don’t _try_ to get burned. Um, we’ll see how this goes.”

“You fill me with such confidence,” Sanaki said with a disappointed sigh.

Before long, everyone was lined up in rows in front of Yune with the shortest (including Soren and Sanaki) in the front and Ena and Kurthnaga in the back (since they were about to be the tallest).

“I’ll need the laguz to transform,” Yune announced, and they did. “Let’s begin! Hold up your weapons. Concentrate on them.”

Soren obeyed, touching the page of spells for good measure, but he also watched what Yune was doing. Holding Micaiah’s light tome in one hand, she cast the other to the side. Her eyes were clamped shut in concentration. Once again, ghostly blue flames rose from her, but these were brighter and far more numerous than the times she’d blessed Ike and Micaiah. They swirled around and around, growing stronger, until they funneled up into the air and spread out over all the royals and mercenaries awaiting her blessing. From here, they branched out, connecting with each of them and settling upon their clothes and weapons.

Soren felt an eerie tingling that reached up his back, over his shoulders, up the sides of his head, and past his ears, upon which he shivered. Then it passed, and Soren discovered any tears or patches in his clothing had disappeared. The Rexcalibur spell at the top of the page before him had also changed—the black ink was now outlined in a fine, silver light.

Looking up, Soren saw Yune stagger backward, the blue flames gone. “Okay, I’m all done now. Whew… I… That was really hard… I think I… I think I need to rest.” She slowly but gracefully lowered herself to the floor, as if going limp one limb at a time. By the time her torso fell, however, Sothe was there to catch her.

“Micaiah?” he asked frantically. She blinked blearily. “Are you feeling alright? You don’t look so good.” The bird on her shoulder twittered weakly and glided to the ground where it lay with its wings outstretched, unmoving.

“I’m fine,” Micaiah managed to say, sitting up. “Thank you, Sothe.” Leaning away from him a moment, she picked up the little bird and tucked it into a compartment on her belt.

“What happened to Yune?” Ike asked, stepping forward and extending his arm.

“She’s sleeping,” Micaiah answered, and she accepted his hand, letting him pull her from Sothe’s lap. “She wants us to take it from here.” Sothe stood too, but he still seemed worried about Micaiah—touching her face and trying to look into her eyes. She gave him a reassuring hug, but she did seem weaker. Not for the first time, Soren wondered what the cost of hosting Yune’s power might be. He found himself glad she’d merely blessed their weapons and spells instead of trying to put a piece of herself in each of them. Soren was fairly sure he didn’t want that.

“Alright!” Ike called, getting everyone’s attention. “If we’re all set, let’s move out!” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the maze of wall-less hallways looming in the mist.

When they reached the wide central platform, Soren could finally see the legion of Goldoans awaiting them. Half were already in their dragon forms; others were standing reproachfully with their arms crossed. Of those already transformed, two thirds were red and a third white. Soren wondered if one of the white ones might be Nasir, but then he saw the familiar man standing far at the other end of the platform, just behind and to the right of his king.

Even at this distance, the aura coming off Dheginsea was palpable, and Soren struggled to free his mind. Once this was done, he felt he could take a better count of the Goldoans’ numbers. Casting his eyes over the precipitous, winding platforms, he estimated six hundred or more—the Argos city guard, just as Yune had warned. Then of course, there was the king himself.

“Father!” Kurthnaga cried, striding forward with Ike beside him.

In response, Dheginsea started walking toward them at a reserved pace, descending from the elevated platform where he’d been standing. His subjects made way, and no one seemed to breathe.

Ike and Kurthnaga stopped before they’d gone too far, and when the king was within a distance that his voice could easily be heard, he also stopped. “Kurthnaga. I wasn’t expecting this… Is it safe to assume you’ve come prepared to fight?”

“I have,” the prince growled.

“We have betrayed our vow to the Goddess,” Dheginsea continued, “We should have learned, but the fighting never stopped. Now we must pay for our crimes. We must take responsibility and accept Ashera’s judgement.”

“No!” Micaiah’s voice called out (and a quick glance confirmed she was indeed Micaiah, not Yune). She walked forward until she was standing between Ike and Kurthnaga. “You don’t understand! It wasn’t the war that awoke her! It was my song. The galdr of release freed the Goddess!”

Dheginsea didn’t reply as he assessed Micaiah with a guarded expression. “You can’t expect me to believe that,” he finally said, “We will wait here patiently for the punishment we deserve. If you are unwilling to await judgment…you will stand against the greatest of all dragons!” To prove his words, the king transformed in an intense burst of light.

In his dragon form, he easily stood another ten feet taller than Kurthnaga, and his body was more serpentine. His wings were expansive, and his tail was a river of scales. Its muscles slithered with the incremental movements of a snake, and at the end were spikes nearly as long as Soren was tall. The horns on Dheginsea’s head and shoulders were longer than Kurthnaga’s, and the claws on his hindlegs, forepaws, and even the two talons atop the fold of his wings were larger and deadlier-looking.

“Father, no!” Kurthnaga cried, and his voice cracked. “Why must we fight? There must be a way to talk through this.”

“It’s no use, Kurth,” Ike sighed, apparently unintimidated by the massive dragon. “We have no choice but to fight.”

Flapping his wings, Dheginsea dug gouges into the floor and leapt into the air, where he swiveled back, flying to retake his position on the raised platform beyond his soldiers. Apparently he was going to leave the fighting to his underlings for now, and Soren couldn’t complain, because they all suddenly seemed much more manageable than their king.

Ike turned around. “We must reach the goddess,” he announced, “and not even the King of Dragons can stand in our way!”

Skrimir transformed and roared. Tibarn shrieked, Ranulf yowled, and the rest of the mercenaries screamed and shouted at the top of their lungs. Kurthnaga and Ena transformed, and Soren found himself thinking that, although he was slightly smaller, Kurthnaga was probably their best chance against Dheginsea.

Falling back, Soren began incanting Bolting spells, but they seemed to have little to no effect on the dragons he targeted (other than enraging them). When he didn’t have a single one left, he moved forward and wondered if he was wasting his time hoping for an elemental advantage.

Ranulf was currently confronting a red dragon by biting the back of its leg and holding on, probably trying to rip out a crucial tendon and topple it.

“Let go, Ranulf!” Soren called out, not wanting to electrocute the cat. He obeyed, and when the dragon rounded on him, Soren released the Thoron spell he’d prepared.

The twin bolts struck the dragon, but it just roared ferociously, moving its forelegs and wings with jittery jerks. When the spell ended and the orb of electricity collapsed on its head, it swayed as if dazed. Ranulf lunged forward, scrambling up the dragon’s back before it could react. He plunged his fangs into its neck, tearing left and right while scales and blood fell. But the dragon managed to fling Ranulf to the ground—where he yelped pitifully but managed to pull himself back up.

Soren wondered what to do next. Thoron was his most powerful thunder spell, and he’d truly hoped it would have more of an effect. While he hesitated, the dragon opened its mouth and shot fire at them both. Soren only survived because Ranulf tackled him to safety. They slid away on the stone floor, and although the fall bruised him, Soren didn’t have time to see if anything was sprained or broken. A white dragon was backpedaling to avoid Ena’s breath, and it was about to step right on him. Ranulf darted away in an instant, and Soren scrambled to his feet, turning his gaze back to the red dragon.

He was about to try Rexcalibur when he was saved from having to make a decision. Rolf shot an arrow directly into the bloody skin at the base of the dragon’s jaw, which Ranulf had just exposed. He only accomplished this by getting dangerously close to the dragon and shooting straight upward. But the gamble was a success, and the arrow embedded itself so deep that the fletching was barely visible. It must have skewered the dragon’s brain, because a moment later, it collapsed and reverted its form. Looking at the human body now, Soren saw that she was a woman and that she looked young. Then again, that was just how Goldoans were. Logically speaking, she had to have been over a hundred years old, perhaps two-hundred. He wondered how she could have lived all of that time only to die here.

“Hey, numbskull! Get your head on straight!” scolded Boyd, and a moment later he was seizing Soren’s collar and throwing him out of the way of another red dragon’s foot. As soon as he regained his stance, Boyd lunged forward, heaving his axe into the dragon’s thigh. When it swept its forepaw at him, he jumped and latched onto it while wrenching out the axe with his other hand. From here, he hit the dragon in the stomach. In retaliation, it threw him across the floor.

Soren felt useless, but he knew he was only useless because he wasn’t doing anything. Hearing the sounds Boyd’s body made as he rolled across the tiles was enough to jog him into action. He started chanting the words to Rexcalibur, telling himself it was high time he stopped being afraid of dragons.

There was no reason for it. He, Ike, and the other mages had defeated Ena in Nevassa. Ike, Ena, and Naesala had defeated Rajaion in Melior. And Soren had helped defeat several feral dragons both in Melior and at Gritnea Tower. He had seen Ena and even Kurthnaga injured by the Disciples. Goldoans were mortal, just like any laguz.

And they were slow.

Soren dodged the red dragon’s fiery breath, taking Boyd’s opponent for his own. The dragon fired again, but he rolled out of the way. He’d completed a Rexcalibur spell but held it in reserve, waiting for the right moment to strike.

Now that he was closer, the dragon switched from using its breath to using its forelegs and jaws, but its movements were impeded by Boyd’s axe. Soren slipped toward its weaker side, assessing the damage, planning the routes by which he would need the winds to move to do the most damage.

When he was ready, he released the spell, and the prism of wind encased the dragon, freezing it in place and slowing its movements even more. “What?” he growled through scaly lips—a man’s voice. But in the next moment, the winds exploded. Boyd’s axe went flying and embedded itself it the floor nearby. Soren funneled power into the gyrating blades as they spun around the dragon, catching the wounds Boyd had made, tearing them longer, stretching them up and around the dragon’s entire body. He was freezing as he went, intensifying the cold winds. The spell broke flesh and bone with a sound like shattering ice.

When he finally released the spell, he was dizzy with exhaustion, but the dragon fell dead. The Goldoan man was hardly recognizable now. Looking at his mangled body, Soren realized holding the spell that long had been overkill. He hadn’t accounted for the power Yune’s blessing lent to the already powerful spell.

Boyd limped over and took up his axe. He didn’t comment on the bloody mess, instead nodding and jogging off to find his next opponent. The dragons were everywhere, so it wasn’t difficult to find a companion having a hard time and helping them overcome their adversary. Soren did the same thing.

Telling himself he just had to defeat thirty dragons to carry his weight in this battle, Soren began counting them down. He conjured two Tornado spells to act as guards around him, blocking the dragons’ red and blue flames when he couldn’t dodge or escape them. When he felt these flagging, he funneled more power to them. But otherwise, every ounce of his concentration was required for his Rexcalibur spells.

After Thoron had failed him, Soren didn’t bother with thunder magic again, and he certainly didn’t waste his time on fire magic. Relying solely on wind, he experimented with Rexcalibur in ways he hadn’t been able to before. He needn’t fear running out of this particular spell, thanks to Yune’s blessing, so his only limit was his magic ability. As the most powerful wind spell in existence, Rexcalibur required a lot of energy every time he cast it. But Soren found he was able to offer this power as long as he paced himself.

As a child, he’d learned to use a simple wind spell to smash a lock; to this day, he could unleash the tiny spell with more speed, precision, and force than it was designed. Now, he needed to learn how to manipulate Rexcalibur in the same way—no wasted energy, no blades of wind branching off, no residual force knocking down anything in the spell’s periphery. Although this could be helpful when fighting clustered beorc soldiers, it was a waste now. Soren had to concentrate on one dragon at a time, killing it before moving onto the next. Each spell needed to be carefully controlled and given just enough power to make it effective.

After leaving some dragons with mere scratches and others in bloody heaps, Soren gradually found his middle-ground. He attacked at a rate he could maintain, and he focused on the wounds the dragons had already received, pushing them deeper and pulling them wider. He learned how to increase Rexcalibur’s freezing effect, finding that the dragons’ scales became looser and more brittle if frozen. This, in turn, opened more vulnerable patches for either his wind blades or another mercenary’s weapon to puncture.

Meanwhile, the others were targeting the dragons’ known weak points: their eyes, noses, armpits, and leg joints. The inside of the mouth was also a vulnerable area, but Soren tried not to get that close. Not only were the teeth deadly, but the fire that erupted from the dragons’ throats couldn’t be avoided at that range.

Sometimes, the dragons’ breath couldn’t be avoided anyway—especially if two or more attacked in tandem, spraying their jets of fire on parallel or intersecting paths. When this happened, Soren relied on his shields of wind magic—and on one occasion, nothing but his white cloak. Fortunately, Yune’s enchantment seemed to have made it fireproof after all. Soren was knocked to the ground by the force, and his fingers and the back of his leg that escaped the cloak’s protection were viciously burned. But he was alive, and as soon as he rolled away, he flung his cloak aside and released the Rexcalibur spell he’d prepared. One of the two dragons who’d pinned him died, and Soren rolled again to avoid the other.

The mercenaries were making headway, slowly but surely, when Dheginsea seemed to take issue with their progress and remind them he was here. “Feel the power of Ashera’s faithful!” the massive dragon bellowed, and then he chanted in the ancient language: “*Spread, my breath, to the highest reaches of the tide. Flood my enemies in darkness.*”

Soren had never heard of laguz using vocal magic (other than heron galdr of course), and he didn’t know what to expect. But it didn’t take long to see the curse’s effect: black fire poured from the Dheginsea’s mouth, dancing around his forelegs and then spreading outward in a torrent. In the fire crackled veins of violet light.

“Watch out!” Ike called, but there was nothing anyone could do. It hit them with such force that every mercenary hit the ground. Only Elincia, Tibarn, and Reyson were spared by flying out of range. When it reached him, Soren’s breath was knocked out of his chest, and his entire body seized with pain. He felt like he was burning from the inside out.

But then it passed, and Soren found he wasn’t dead. He struggled to his feet, and then struggled to dodge a white dragon’s tail. He struggled to leap back without falling. He struggled to keep his balance. He struggled to regulate his breathing and regain his voice enough to incant. But after the dragon’s curse, everything had become so much harder.

Looking around, Soren saw that that the others were having an equally difficult time getting back on their feet. The force of the attack had shocked the laguz out of their transformations, and Kurthnaga was the first to reclaim his dragon form. He seemed no worse for wear but was obviously enraged. Ena, meanwhile, retreated further and claimed she needed to rest a moment. As for Skrimir and Ranulf, they each spent a minute desperately dodging while they attempted to recover. Eventually they transformed back, and once they did, they raced to support Kurthnaga, who was on a rampage, mauling the red and white dragons before him. He was bigger than them, and he used this to his advantage. Whenever he knocked one to the ground, Skrimir, Ranulf, or one of the mercenaries rushed forward to finish the job.

Soren was suddenly aware of Reyson singing passionately nearby, and he realized the heron was throwing himself into his galdr verses more than ever to restore everyone’s lost strength. Ike and Tibarn were fighting near Reyson, so Soren made his way closer.

This group, in turn, proceeded closer to Kurthnaga, who was functioning as their offensive vanguard. When they arrived, Ike called up to the prince, asking what Dheginsea had done, but the Kurthnaga said only that it was old magic, a lost technique that the king had never taught his children. “Dragon magic once ran deeper than even heron galdr,” he murmured down to him while catching his breath. “I am sorry I can be of no more use.”

“You’re plenty useful!” Ike called up in return. “We’re nearly to your father, and I hate to ask it, but either you’re going to have to reason with him or get him in a headlock!”

“I…I will try,” Kurthnaga promised, leaving Ike’s side to grapple with a white dragon heading their way.

Ike started giving orders to the others: “Mist, Oscar, Elincia! When we get to the king’s dais, you three distract his fire. Once we’re all in place, you’ll be on rescue duty. Boyd, Mia! You’re on this right hindleg. Gatrie and Sothe, his left! Skrimir, Ranulf—his tail! Rhys, Micaiah, take out his eyes. Rolf and Shinon, his nose! Fill it with blood so he can’t smell us. Soren, Tibarn—his wings! I don’t want him flying away. Sanaki, burn us a weak spot, right here—” Ike thumped his own heart “—Reyson, keep us strong. And Ena, you stay back for now. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Everyone called out to confirm that they understood their orders. Soren just hoped it would go according to Ike’s plan. A minute later, it certainly seemed like it wouldn’t. Perhaps concerned that they were getting closer, Dheginsea roared again, saying: “You have followed Yune’s path and put us at irrevocable odds. I loathe that it has to be this way.” Once again, he chanted the ancient words, and once again, black flames fell from his mouth.

“Brace yourself!” Ike warned, and Soren tried. But the sapping flames felt even worse this time, and he gasped to regain his breathing. He tried to get up but was too dizzy and fell. All around him, mercenaries were stumbling, and Soren found his ears were filled with high-pitched ringing.

Meanwhile the red and white dragons around them were unaffected. Tibarn and Elincia were doing their best to fend them off, and Reyson was rescuing the mercenaries who couldn’t save themselves by either picking them up or shoving them out of the way. Of the ground troops, it seems only Kurthnaga had maintained his composure. He continued to fight and blast the enemy dragons with his own beams of blue breath. Soren thought dimly that he must have learned something last time and found a way to counteract Dheginsea’s magic. He was grateful for that now, because Kurthnaga was currently in front of him, keeping three white dragons at bay while Soren still struggled to stay on his feet.

“Get up,” the Dragon Prince rumbled. “Get up, all of you. He cannot defeat you. You are stronger than this.” Then his voice disappeared, and Soren heard only the whistle and roar of him priming and releasing his catastrophic breath.

At Kurthnaga’s words, Soren wondered if Dheginsea’s curse magic could be related to the daunting effect he had on people or the telesthesic connection between laguz. If so, the black flames were more of a mental attack than a magical or physical one. And if that were the case, Soren needed only resist it and clear his mind to regain control of himself.

As soon as he commitment himself to this endevour, his dizziness began to fade and the battlefield settled around him. Most of the other mercenaries were still fighting weakly or lopsidedly, but Soren trusted they too would overcome the telepathic attack soon. For now, he needed to use his newfound consciousness to do the most damage. Chanting the words to Rexcalibur, Soren determined to take out one of the dragons Kurthnaga was fighting.

“You’ve recovered,” the prince observed, turning his gaze down for a moment.

Soren didn’t offer a reply, instead jumping right into his next spell. It was a better use of his voice, and before long, the second of the white dragons was dead as well. Kurthnaga ripped the third’s jaw off and then wasted no time moving onto a red dragon stomping toward Gatrie.

Ike and Micaiah were the next to reclaim themselves and continue fighting with all their strength (or what remained of it, anyway). Gradually everyone else recovered, and with one final surge, they eliminated most of the remaining Goldoans.

Nasir and his red-haired counterpart advanced to protect their king. Panting hard and dizzy with exhaustion, Soren resented Nasir’s composure more than ever. But recalling his threat to kill him himself, Soren jogged forward to engage him before anyone else could.

However, it appeared Ike had the same idea. “Nasir!” he called, and the pain in his voice was crushing. “Why come here? Why face us?” He sprinted past Soren, coming to halt in front of the man. He gripped his sword hilt in both hands, but he was trembling. Soren didn’t know if it was due to exhaustion or fury. He caught up and stood by his side.

“Naturally, I never thought it would come to this,” Nasir replied calmly, still in his human form. “You must have defeated the Black Knight, among other foes, to reach this place. Congratulations, Ike. I know how long you’d wish-”

“That doesn’t matter now!” he growled back. “And it has nothing to do with this. I don’t want to fight you, Nasir.”

“If you do not wish to fight me, then attack neither me nor my king.”

This answer was so annoying Soren began chanting Rexcalibur spells under his breath. The air around him started to churn.

“Grandfather!” Ena begged, striding forward in her dragon form. Bloodstains from her victims spilled over her teeth, down her scaly neck. “Don’t do this.”

Nasir shook his head. “Leave this place, Ena. Pass from this world with grace…not like this.”

“I won’t!” she refused. “I won’t give up like you have.”

At this, Nasir made no reply. Ike gripped his sword tighter and adjusted his stance. “Stay back, Ena. There’s no reason for you to do anything you’ll regret. I’ll handle this.”

She hesitated, but then retreated. Soren took another step so he stood slightly in front of Ike. “You don’t have to do it either,” he whispered, not taking his eyes off Nasir.

“It’s okay, I can-”

Without letting him finish, Soren released the first Rexcalibur he’d prepared. But Nasir’s reflexes were fast, and he transformed in an instant. At the same time, he leapt back, and the spell missed completely. Soren released another, but this time Nasir reverted his form, shrinking down so that the winds exploded safely over his head. Now he was running at them. Soren released the third spell, but Nasir merely slid across the floor to avoid it. In the same swift movement, he drew a knife from his belt and threw it at Ike.

Ike easily deflected the projectile, and Soren realized too late than it’d been a distraction. Nasir had drawn his attention away, relying on his concern for Ike’s wellbeing. By the time he turned back, Nasir was right in front of him.

His hand shot out, grabbing Soren’s throat. He tried to fight back, but before he could get so much as a kick in, Nasir transformed again. Soren’s feet left the ground, and now his entire torso was held tight in Nasir’s scaly fist. From here, Soren could easily see Nasir’s blue, reptilian eyes—as taunting as ever.

“Hey!” Ike shouted indignantly, racing forward with his sword raised.

Soren released the final Rexcalibur spell before Nasir could crush him. He concentrated on the dragon’s arm, and when the winds exploded, the limb snapped. The surprise in Nasir’s eyes was so satisfying, it was almost worth the drop. While Nasir scrambled back, with his forearm hanging from his elbow by a shred of flesh, Soren fell through the air. He didn’t think this height would kill him if he landed correctly, but it was certainly going to hurt.

“Gotcha!” Ike called below. Before Soren could be surprised, he landed on top of him and they were both hitting the ground. His chin collided with Ike’s steel pauldron, and his teeth rattled into his brain. Hissing from the impact, Soren wondered if falling on the stone floor might have been less painful.

“ _Oww_ ,” Ike groaned, picking himself up.

Soren was about to call him a fool, but then he noticed Nasir’s throat was glowing. He and Ike barely threw themselves out of the way in time. Soren began chanting another spell while he got to his feet, and Ike was already charging forward, having popped out of a well-executed roll. “Let’s work together!” he called over his shoulder.

In answer, Soren unleashed a Rexcalibur spell, trying to hit Nasir from whatever angle was opposite Ike’s next strike. The pair slowly wore him down—Soren with the freezing, slicing winds, and Ike with his long blade and versatile footwork. White scales fell in showers, and Nasir’s dangling arm was blown off (reverting to a normal, human arm when it landed). Soren opened up several weak points Ike could take advantage of, but he never attempted a killing blow.

“Give up!” he demanded, obviously frustrated. Soren realized he couldn’t do it; he still considered Nasir a friend, despite everything.

Nasir didn’t reply. Although he was losing a lot of blood from his elbow stump, he still moved quickly and was releasing blasts of electric blue fire more frequently. 

Summoning his resolve (and his power), Soren determined to make good on his promise. “*Glaciate, spirits of wind, and lacerate. Ravage all you encompass*,” he chanted, “… _And drop dead you snake_.”

He directed the spell at Nasir’s neck, but the dragon reverted his form to avoid it. At the same time, he nimbly ducked away from Ike’s close-range attack. Soren fueled the spell, keeping the blades of wind gyrating so Nasir couldn’t transform again without lopping his head off. Meanwhile, Ike kept him busy avoiding Ragnell’s deadly touch.

Dashing toward them, Soren summoned a simple Wind spell, scooped up Nasir’s fallen knife, and withdrew the one from his belt. He tossed both in the air and released the spell. The blades sailed around Ike, one over his shoulder and one lower, hidden—nearly skimming his ribs. His cape fluttered wildly in the gust, but when it fell, Ike was standing frozen. Nasir had dodged the higher projectile, earning nothing but a sliced ear, but the other blade was embedded to its hilt in his stomach.

Ike stared in shock. When Nasir stumbled backward, he reached out a hand. “No…”

Soren hadn’t stopped running, and he reached them just as Nasir fell against the raised platform where Dheginsea was brooding. Knowing that the Dragon King could easily strike them from here, Soren understood the risk of getting any closer. But he did anyway.

Removing his belt, he fell to his knees and looped it around Nasir’s mangled stump. He reached for the knife in his gut, but Soren growled: “Don’t touch you dare touch it. You’ll just bleed out faster.”

Nasir stared at him, and even as he eyes glassed over, he looked incredibly surprised.

Ike dropped next to them. “Hang on, Nasir. We haven’t given up on you yet!” Removing one of his own belts, he made another tourniquet above a particularly deep would on his right leg.

While his hands worked, becoming coated in Nasir’s blood, Soren’s mind raced to catch up with his own actions. He had intended to kill Nasir, hadn’t he? He wondered why he’d used the knife instead of a wind blade. The latter would have been more fatal. He remembered aiming for his heart, and wondered how he could have missed. Looking down, he wondered why he was trying to save Nasir’s life now.

But Ike had said ‘we’, and Nasir’s bewilderment had finally washed the smug look from his face. These things felt right, and Soren decided he’d never wanted to kill Nasir after all.

“Grandfather!” came Ena’s cry. Now in her human form, she fell to her knees beside Ike, where she gripped Nasir’s hand.

“I have lived long enough,” he mumbled, “Ena, I wish you…the best…”

“Don’t die!” she commanded. “Look, Ike is trying to save you. He still believes in you, as do I.”

Nasir stared at her, and Soren feared he was dead for a moment before he sucked in a breath and finally blinked. “…Very well.”

Ike unclipped his cape and draped it over him. “Stay warm. Don’t move. Keep breathing. I’ll get Mist.” He looked up, but Mist was already engaging Dheginsea, as was the plan. Oscar and Elincia were with her.

Soren surveyed the battlefield; the rest of the dragons were dead, including Nasir’s counterpart whom Tibarn and Skrimir had been fighting.

“Ena, stay with him,” Ike said, “We’ll heal him when this is over.”

She nodded and wiped her eyes.

“Let’s go!” Ike called, gesturing for Soren to follow. “Strike the king now!” he bellowed loud enough for everyone to hear. They raced up the steps, finally reaching Dheginsea, who was swatting away the cavalry as if they were mere pests.

The claws on his forepaw slid through Mist’s horse, killing it and sending her flying. His tail collided with Oscar, crushing his steed. His jaws snatched Elincia’s pegasus by the wing, flinging them both to the ground. Soren could hardly believe how fast he moved for a creature so large.

However, Mist, Oscar, and Elincia’s sacrifice had given the others enough time to get into position, and now Kurthnaga was standing in front of the king. “Father!” he yelled, “Please think about what you’re doing.”

“The time for words has passed,” Dheginsea replied, pulling himself to his full height. “The only option remaining is to stop you with brute force.”

“Why?” Kurthnaga shook his head. “Father, _why?_ ”

“That is enough! No more sniveling! You, Kurthnaga, were to rule the Dragon Tribe in the years to come. Show me that you would have been capable!”

“But-” He froze, and a shiver ran through his entire reptilian body. “Yes sir… I will show you.” With that, he raised his forepaws, stretched his wings, lashed his tail, and lunged.

The king met him halfway, and they pressed on each other’s shoulders, each trying to force the other down. Meanwhile, Ike and the others raced to accomplish their assigned tasks. Soren started chanting Rexcalibur spells again, targeting Dheginsea’s wings while also trying to avoid hitting Tibarn, who was doing the same.

Kurthnaga gave Dheginsea a bit of false leverage, and in the king’s lurch, he sidestepped and seized his neck between his arm and body. Here Kurthnaga remained, quivering with the strain. Meanwhile, beside him, Sanaki conjured a drill of churning flames, the tip of which dripped with molten lava. She repeatedly targeted the same spot on the king’s chest. But the scales were thick and resilient to magic.

Soren wished there was something he could do, but he was busy enough trying to shred the dragon’s massive wings—while also avoiding his tail every time it got away from Skrimir and Ranulf and his jet of blue breath every time his head got away from Kurthnaga.

But this couldn’t go on forever, and Ike was slowly climbing up the king’s spiny back. He’d been thrown off twice now, but this time he was making quicker progress. Finally he reached Dheginsea’s shoulder. Here, he wrapped his legs around one of the horn-like protrusions, swung himself upside-down over the front, and drove his full weight into his sword, stabbing it in the scorched place where Sanaki’s spells had weakened the scales. Dheginsea roared so loudly, Soren had to clamp his hands over his ears.

Wincing in pain, he glanced up to assess the effectiveness of the strike. From what he could see, Ike’s aim had been perfect. Ragnell was wedged right underneath one of the larger scales, and it was embedded all the way to the hilt. Suddenly Ike adjusted his grip and uncrossed his legs so his body swung around. This caused the blade to wrench within the wound, and Dheginsea cried out a second time.

Now Ike was dangling far above the ground, and Dheginsea was writhing worse than ever. Soren knew he wouldn’t be able to hang on. Fortunately, Tibarn swooped down, shouting, “Let go!” Ike did, and the Hawk King caught him.

Everyone scrambled backward, and Kurthnaga finally released his father’s neck. From a relatively safe distance, they all stared as Dheginsea trembled and panted. “Well done,” he rumbled, and his voice sounded much weaker. With shaking claws, he pinched Ragnell’s hilt and pulled out the sword. It fell to the ground, and blood pumped in surges through the hole it left. “You…have beaten me.” With one final shudder of his serpentine body, Dheginsea reverted to his human form. Then, staggering, he collapsed.

Kurthnaga reverted as well and ran forward. Ena must have left Nasir’s side, because she was right behind him. Ike and Micaiah followed, while Soren and the others approached more cautiously.

“Father!” Kurthnaga cried, falling to his knees and taking the king’s head in his lap. Dheginsea’s eyes were melted shut from light magic, and his face was bloodied with dozens of pricks that been arrow holes when he’d been full-sized. 

“Don’t lose your head now, boy,” Dheginsea scolded softly. “This wound…” He reached up and seized the bloody hole right above his heart. Blood seeped between his fingers. “This is nothing. Your power… How could you defeat me? I was blessed by…Ashera herself.”

“I gave them my blessing,” answered Yune, having taken Micaiah’s body as her own.

Dheginsea turned his head, unseeing, to the sound of her voice. “Yune?” he wheezed in disbelief. “Is that you?”

“That war long ago…” she said, and her voice was full of sorrow. “I’m so sorry. You were right to fight against me. I was young and immature. The great flood was a result of my unchecked emotions.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Yune,” Dheginsea replied. “I always knew you weren’t actually evil… You were just too powerful.”

“So why did you choose Ashera again? I had hoped that this time you would join me to help protect the people.”

“I’m sorry, Yune. But I’ve done worse to you…” Dheginsea’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Long ago, we made a vow before the Goddess Ashera herself. We vowed that we, the laguz and beorc, would never commit the same genocidal sins. We didn’t keep our promise… And for that reason, I was committed to accepting my just punishment.”

“Silly, stubborn old scalebag,” Yune sniffed, wiping her eyes. “You just don’t know when to quit… You need to lighten up.”

“To convince the laguz kings to follow my example, I rewrote history, hid my tracks, and declared you a dark god. All I ever wanted was to avoid conflict… Please, forgive me.”

“Don’t worry about it, Dheginsea,” Yune whispered back, “I caused enough trouble for you, so I’ll forgive you just this once.”

“I’m pleased to hear that.” Now the king moved his head, as if looking for someone he couldn’t see. “…Ena?” he asked, and in response she knelt beside him and gingerly took his hand. He seemed to summon the last of his strength to grip hers back. “I would like to tell you only that I wish you the greatest happiness in life. If the end of man does not come and there is still a future…then I want you to live happily. My dear son would have wished for that as well.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” Ena replied with tears falling from her eyes.

“Now, Kurthnaga…” Dheginsea’s entire body relaxed, and his fingers became loose in Ena’s hand. His head tilted back in his son’s lap. “Tell my lovely Almedha…to cherish…her life…and that I am sorry.”

“I will,” Kurthnaga promised.

“Good… Now, get these men moving… I will remain here, for I cannot move.”

“Yes, Father,” Kurthnaga choked through painful-looking tears. “We will stop Ashera. Wait here for our return. We will be back.”

“…Yes, my son. I’ll be…waiting.” Despite his promise, his final word became his last breath, which left his body in a long, hollow sigh.

“Father!” Kurthnaga called out. Sobs wracked his shoulders.

Ena enveloped him in a hug. “Kurth… He’s gone.”

Yune, meanwhile, had perked up and was now wandering away, gazing around as if she saw something no one else did. “It’s happening again…” she murmured and then suddenly called out: “Whose memory is this?” Everyone stared at her, but no one offered a reply. She was now staring at the nearby exit. “Something feels so…familiar about it. Is that… Is that your memory?” she asked the door (or perhaps the very air in front of her).

“Um, are you okay?” Ike asked, hesitantly touching her shoulder.

Yune spun around, looking confused. But her demeanor calmed a moment later. “Yes, I’ll be fine. It is just…the memories are so strong here.”

Ike nodded as if that made sense, and Yune turned away from him again. Walking forward, she opened the doors, which led to more floating stairs. These were not as solid as the ones they’d walked before; there were gaps between many of the steps. Soren wondered if this meant they were getting close to the top.

He also found himself wondering if they would ever make it back down.


	27. CHAPTER 93: REVELATIONS

After having his worst wounds healed and regaining consciousness, Nasir requested he be left with Dheginsea and the rest of the fallen Goldoans. “I will try…to make my way down…when I’ve recovered…a bit of my strength,” he mumbled disjointedly, “but I would only…slow you down…in this state.” Ike and Kurthnaga agreed he could stay behind as long as he promised not to die.

Upon leaving him, the mercenaries climbed until they came to another place they could rest. The horses and pegasus had died, so they all carried their own supplies now. That being said, there wasn’t much to carry except the dregs of the water and a few vulneraries.

Mist and the other healers tended their wounds, but more than that, it seemed everyone just wanted to sleep. They wandered in and out of dreams, sometimes shuffling around in their sleep, sometimes mumbling to themselves in a daze. Soren felt the same exhaustion—as if his weariness had sunk so deep into his bones that he would fade away or perhaps crumble from the inside out. He wished he could surrender to a deep sleep, but like everyone else, it seemed he could not fully rest. He only drifted in and out of a half-sleep, sometimes returning to consciousness finding himself standing up and not knowing where he was going or what he was doing. He wondered if they were all losing their minds.

He wanted to talk to Ike about it, but he hadn’t had a real conversation with him since he’d defeated the Black Knight. Although Soren had decided to trust Ike’s ability in the end, he imagined his lack of faith these past couple years couldn’t be expunged so easily. He felt he’d let Ike down. He didn’t know how to communicate his regret while also conveying his gratitude that Ike was alive—or his fear at having come so close to losing him. 

He was sitting alone atop some steps, staring at the swirling abyss, not knowing if he was looking up or down, thinking about all the things he didn’t know how to say, when someone approached him. Turning over his shoulder, he was surprised to see Kurthnaga.

The new Dragon King had hardly said a word since the death of his father, but Soren supposed that was understandable. Then again, he couldn’t quite determine whether Dheginsea had died only a couple minutes ago or a day ago already.

“May I join you?” he asked softly.

“…Fine,” Soren consented, and Kurthnaga lowered himself onto the step beside him. They sat in silence for a while, and eventually Soren wondered if he was supposed to express condolences. “Your father was difficult to defeat,” he ventured, even though that wasn’t the proper thing to say.

“He was… But here we are,” Kurthnaga sighed. Silence stretched between them again, and Soren decided he wouldn’t be the one to break it this time. If Kurthnaga had something to say, he would say it. Eventually, he did. “I don’t have much family left now,” he lamented softly.

“If we cannot defeat Ashera, it won’t matter,” Soren offered. “We could all be headed the same way.”

“You are a very negative person, aren’t you?” Kurthnaga replied with a weak, halfhearted laugh in his voice. “That’s something my father might have said… I’m sorry that we have never truly spoken before.”

Soren glanced at him quizzically. After all, Kurthnaga had never seemed particularly chatty. He decided to give up this charade. “Is there something you want from me or not?”

Kurthnaga glanced at him in surprise, but then his expression settled into a penetrating stare. “There is something I wish to tell you, but I want to be certain before I do.”

“Certain of what?” Soren replied skeptically.

“Please bear with me a moment,” Kurthnaga asked gently, while placing one hand on either side of Soren’s head and closing his eyes.

Soren went rigid at the touch, but he didn’t pull away. For now, he was willing to let the strange, grief-stricken dragon do what he wanted.

When Kurthnaga opened his eyes, they were wide in wonder. “She was right… Of course, she was right.”

“What are you talking about?” Soren asked in annoyance. He twitched his head away, and Kurthnaga dropped his arms. He also scooted farther back, as if to see Soren better; he was still staring.

“Soren… I need to tell you something important. My sister, Almedha, asked me not to, but if I’m to be king, I want to rule honestly.” As soon as he said this, he seemed to reconsider and gave his head a quick, sharp shake. “No, that’s not it… The truth is, I don’t have much family left, and I want to do right by those who remain.”

“Fine then. What does your sister want?”

“Nothing.” Kurthnaga’s explanation came slowly. “She says she doesn’t need you to do anything… But I think it would be good for her, if you’d be willing to sit down and talk to her when all of this is over.”

“Why would I do that?” Soren asked, suddenly feeling nervous. His fingers twitched, and he wanted to leave the young dragon to his ramblings.

“Because she is your mother,” he answered softly.

Soren was on his feet in an instant, but he had nowhere to go. He was rooted to the spot, frozen and dizzy. “…What?”

“She told me before we entered the tower. Please, I’ll explain everything I know. Just sit down.”

“No…” Soren shook his head in confusion. He took a single step downward, but again he was frozen. Kurthnaga’s claim echoed in his head. Of course, Soren had wanted to know the identity of his parents his entire life, but he’d put that search aside. He’d never honestly believed he would discover the truth, and he certainly never imagined he’d discover it this way. Not here, at the end of space and time. Not from some strange laguz he hardly knew.

“Sit,” Kurthnaga commanded more forcefully, and Soren finally obeyed. “As you may have guessed, Pelleas is not her true son. She was keeping her identity a secret while living in Daein, and Pelleas didn’t even know she was laguz until I arrived at Nox.” He shook his head sadly. “I think that is when he started suspecting the truth. After all, he does not have the blood of a Parentless like you.”

“Parentless…” Soren repeated, and his voice felt oddly disconnected from his own ears.

“Of course, the name is hardly accurate,” Kurthnaga amended awkwardly. “Do you prefer the beorc name for your kind: Branded?”

Soren shook his head. “It doesn’t matter…”

Kurthnaga took a quiet, yet deep breath before continuing: “Pelleas must have suspected you. He tried to arrange for you and Almedha to meet, if only for a moment. When she did see you… She recognized you instantly. Soren, you made her so happy just to see you again.”

“The other day…” he thought aloud, remembering the severity in her eyes. “Why- why didn’t she say anything?”

“My sister… She has learned to become careful with her heart. She gave it all to Pelleas, believing him to be her lost son. But he grew uncomfortable with her smothering and began rejecting her even before discovering the truth. She feels she has already lost one son. I’m sure she is reluctant to open herself up again.”

Soren wasn’t fond of the idea of motherly smothering, but neither could he deny that he wished to meet her, to ask her his questions, to know why he’d grown up alone, to know if she’d ever gone back to Galina’s hovel to look for him.

“I am sorry,” Kurthnaga sympathized, “This must be a lot to take in.”

“If she is…then who…” Soren couldn’t manage the words. He feared he already knew the answer, and it turned his blood cold.

“Who was your father?” Kurthnaga supplied. “Almedha assures me she has loved no other than the late King Ashnard. Again, I am sorry… I heard that you helped to defeat that man.”

Soren shivered involuntarily, trying to recall the face of the madman who had tried to throw the world into chaos. “That…can’t be true,” he mumbled, but even while he said it, Kurthnaga’s claim felt undeniable. Could Ashnard’s blood truly run in his veins—the same hate, the same ruthlessness, the same disregard for others’ lives? Yes, it could.

Kurthnaga offered a consoling chuckle, apparently oblivious to the turmoil in Soren’s mind. “Well, you didn’t get your complexion from our side of the family, that is for certain.” Reaching out a hand, he touched his cheek, and Soren wasn’t sure whether it was the touch or the joke that caused him to shiver in revulsion. Once again, Kurthnaga stared into his eyes. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice it before… But I am certain now. We are kin.”

Soren jerked his head away, unable to look at the Dragon King any longer. Long ago, when he’d first seen Kurthnaga from afar, he’d thought it was like looking in a mirror. But he had buried that feeling. He had denied it, discounted it as foolishness.

“Although other laguz may call you Parentless,” Kurthnaga said gently, dropping his hand, “I know Almedha would accept you…if you’ll have her. You need not call me uncle, but I would provide for you as one, if you so wish. I know Ena, too, would welcome you into our family.”

“…Does Ena know?” Soren asked, finally managing to escape the thought of Ashnard. This brought another, much more urgent question: “Does Nasir know?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Kurthnaga answered, but Soren wasn’t convinced. That man had always looked straight through him. “I will not tell a soul if you do not wish it,” he continued, “Neither need I tell Almedha that I told you. Whether you reach out to her…that is your choice alone.”

Soren dropped his head into his hands. This was too much. It felt like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. He wondered if this could merely be the tower’s madness seeping into his mind. Or perhaps Kurthnaga was the one who’d gone mad with grief after losing his father. _My grandfather…_ Soren thought, and the idea sent a wave of confusion through his body like nausea. Words like ‘grandfather’, ‘uncle’, ‘mother’—these concepts had never had any meaning to him. They did not have faces.

“I see this is difficult for you,” Kurthnaga observed. “Perhaps we can talk about this more later.”

“No.” Soren lifted his head. “We could all be dead later.” He took a steadying breath. “Just tell me what you know.”

“Very well.” Kurthnaga brought his hands together. “…Almedha left Goldoa because our home had always felt like a prison to her. She wanted freedom. She met Prince Ashnard and fell in love.”

“He was a genocidal maniac,” Soren growled, suddenly personally offended by the Mad King’s crimes.

“True…” Kurthnaga admitted, “I do not agree with my sister’s choices. But whatever the case…they were married quietly, and then they had you.”

Soren sat frozen, unable to look at Kurthnaga but desperate to hear the story.

“My sister lost her ability to transform,” he continued sadly, “and Ashnard lost interest in her. According to Almedha, you were a very small infant, even for beorc standards, and you were sickly. Ashnard hoped you would have some power when you were older, but for a time, he lost all interest in you as well. This allowed my sister to save you from him. She faked your death and sent you to live with another. Years later, you disappeared, and she thought Ashnard had found you. But confronting him only revealed that you were indeed alive. Pretending to have you in his clutches, he lured my brother, Rajaion, and a unit of Goldoan soldiers to your rescue. But it was a trap… They were all captured and poisoned into Feral Ones. Almedha went to live in exile. Ena eventually left Goldoa to try to save Rajaion… The palace became so lonely with just me and Father left.”

“You’re saying it’s my fault,” Soren said, despite himself. He didn’t feel particularly guilty. He mostly felt disbelief that he could have been the impetus behind such a horrible thing without knowing.

“Of course it’s not your fault,” Kurthnaga replied firmly. “Those were the actions of Ashnard alone.”

“Ashnard…” Soren swallowed the hated name, “So that’s it…” He stood suddenly, wanting this to end. “That’s it, right?”

“That is it.” Kurthnaga nodded. “Are you…going to be okay?”

Soren shook his head but answered in the affirmative: “I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I just have to think.” He didn’t know whether it was a lie.

Kurthnaga bowed his head solemnly. “It is your decision, but…I know she would want to meet you.”

“I need to think,” Soren repeated, walking away. He felt he’d suddenly gained and lost so much in just a few brief minutes, and this left him feeling even more drained and disconnected than before.

Although he’d left Kurthnaga’s side, Soren still didn’t have anywhere to go or anything to do to distract himself. Naturally, his gaze fell on Ike, who was lying on the floor farther down the platform. He rolled over and adjusted his cape, obviously trying to sleep. Soren wanted to tell Ike everything; he wanted Ike to make it better. But he was still locked behind a wall of apologies Soren didn’t know how to give.

Between Soren and Ike, Micaiah and Sothe were sitting and talking to each other in quiet voices. As his gaze fell on them, he felt a sudden, urgent desire to talk to the goddess. Yune was keeping secrets; of that much, Soren was certain. Now here they were, nearing Ashera, nearing the end. Secrets were a waste of time. Everything was a waste of time and energy if they did not succeed—could not succeed. Nothing mattered if there was no leaving this tower, if the stone people stayed stone, if climbing all of these stairs was just a foolish exercise of an even more foolish hope.

“I want to talk to Yune,” he declared, interrupting whatever lovey-dovey whispers they’d been exchanging. Micaiah looked up at him in surprise Sothe glared in annoyance.

“I’m sorry,” she replied, “I can’t just call on her like that.”

“That seems unfair,” Soren shot back. “She can take your body at a moment’s notice, yet you cannot ask her a question when you want?”

“She’s resting right now,” Micaiah tried to explain, but Soren wasn’t having it.

“She rested for eight hundred years. How can she be this weak?” he spat.

“Hey!” Micaiah suddenly complained, and her eyes changed. “Say that to my face, you meanie!”

“Yune…” Soren observed, surprised that she’d actually come to meet him.

“Micaiah!” Sothe turned to her, but Yune just raised a hand to silence him. “Let me talk with this boy a moment, then you will have Micaiah back.”

Sothe growled and stomped away.

“Well?” Yune prompted, crossing her arms.

“I want to know what your plan is,” Soren explained, confused by his own anger but running ahead with it anyway. “We’ve followed you this far. We’ve been beaten to a pulp. We’re risking everything. You owe us that much.”

Yune pursed her lips in a pout. “You know the plan: we’re going to defeat Ashera.”

“How?”

“By fighting her,” the goddess explained emphatically. “That’s why I blessed your weapons, remember?”

Soren switched to a different tact. “Why don’t you speak of restoring the petrified people anymore?” he asked, and this seemed to catch her off guard. Her proud, pouting expression disappeared. He proceeded with his attack: “Everyone is assuming that the stone people will be miraculously restored, and the world saved, if we somehow kill Ashera. But that doesn’t make sense to me. It must have taken a lot of power to petrify the whole continent. Wouldn’t it take the same amount—if not more—to undo it? Tell me, Yune, do you have that power?”

Yune stared at him, blinking.

“Do you?” Soren demanded, and tears sprang to his eyes. “And even if you do… What about the people who have shattered? What about the chaos and hysteria that will spread even if the people are restored? Do you want that to happen? Is that what you’re the goddess of?”

She still didn’t reply.

Soren growled out a final question: “Does any of this even matter?”

Finally Yune released a sad sigh. “I’m impressed… I never know what you mortals have observed or what you’re really thinking. You hide so much of what you see, and you don’t always say what’s on your mind.”

“Stop dodging the question.”

“You’re right,” she replied, and her voice was small. “My power is limited, and I don’t know what I can do. But I promise you—” her voice grew stronger again “—I will do everything I can to defeat Ashera _and_ restore the people. All the people.”

“By ‘defeat’ you mean kill, don’t you?” Soren asked, but his anger was fading fast, taking the last of his energy with it. “But if you and she are so closely connected…can you even survive to save everyone once she is dead?”

“I don’t know,” Yune admitted. “But I will try. I promise I will try. So don’t give up on me, please! I am trying.” Sniffing, she began wiping her eyes.

Soren’s own eyes had dried. “…Fine,” he finally said, albeit reluctantly. “I will keep trying…to imagine a world and a life after this.”

Yune sniffed again. “Whatever happens…” she said, as if offering a word of advice, “Value the time you have now, with the people you love.”

Soren’s throat closed, not allowing him to reply. But he nodded, and a moment later, Micaiah’s eyes were the ones staring at him.

She hastily dried Yune’s tears with her sleeve. “You made her cry again?” she observed in annoyance.

“She’s just a little kid,” Soren returned, finding his voice. “She cries easily.” With that, he forced his legs to trudge away. He’d wanted yelling at Yune to make him feel better. He’d wanted to eliminate his last shred of hope, thinking that would alleviate the pressure of what Kurthnaga had told him.

But his hope remained, despite his best efforts to crush it. What he’d said to Yune hadn’t been a lie. While looking for reasons to give up, he was also trying to imagine a world and a life outside of this tower. A world full of people—including a deranged mother he would have to talk to. A long life, with many years still to spend. For better or worse, these things were more appealing than dying or losing his mind.

“Ike, wake up,” Soren whispered, crouching beside his commander. His face looked younger when he was asleep, and so beautiful. Even the slight wrinkle between his eyebrows, betraying the fact that it wasn’t a restful sleep—even that was beautiful. “Wake up,” Soren asked again, “I need to talk to you.”

Ike’s eyes slid open, and his gaze focused. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“A lot of things,” Soren answered honestly, sitting down.

“What?” Ike propped himself up and looked around. The rest of the troops were quietly minding themselves.

“I am sorry that I didn’t trust you could defeat Zelgius on your own,” he began in a rush, “I know how strong you are, and I know you know your own limits. I should have just had faith in you from the start, like the others.”

Ike peered at him in concern. “I don’t hold that against you,” he replied. “Anyway, you were right. You were the only one who was right… I realized it in the middle of our duel. I was giving everything I had, and so was he. I was glad to have him alone; I was glad Mist and everyone else was far away. I didn’t have to worry about being the commander. I just had to fight him and kill him. I just had to prove I was the better swordsman.” Ike crossed his arms over his knees. “That’s when I realized I wasn’t being myself. I could tell Zelgius would’ve been content to die right then, but I wouldn’t have. I still had… I still have more to live for.”

“Ike…”

“And I nearly lost it all,” he sighed, “I could have died. I could have ruined everything.”

“But you didn’t,” Soren offered, and Ike didn’t say anything more. He decided it was time for his next apology: “I am sorry I didn’t tell you about Greil and Elena a long time ago. I’m sorry I never helped you to remember. And I am sorry that I left.”

“Left?” he repeated in confusion.

“After your mother and half the town died,” Soren clarified. “You had just lost so much. I shouldn’t have left you.”

He took a deep breath. “We were just kids. You can’t be blamed for that.”

“I was going to leave the night Greil died too,” Soren admitted. 

This seemed to shock him, and Ike stared a moment. “You- you were going to leave…”

Soren shook his head hurriedly. “It was not that I didn’t think you would be a good commander. I just never felt I belonged. But then you asked me to stay. You told me you needed me. You made me feel like I could belong. I never thanked you for that.”

“Soren, I’m the one who should thank _you_ ,” Ike returned forcefully. “I’ve told you before—I could never have done any of it without you.” He suddenly adjusted the way he was sitting so he was leaning forward, and he rapidly switched his gaze from one of Soren’s eyes to the other, as if trying to read him. “What’s all of this about anyway? What’s with all of the apologies?” His frown was pulled to the side, and his blue eyes were intensely focused.

“I needed to clear the air,” Soren explained. “I needed to make everything right between us.”

“Everything’s right,” Ike replied firmly. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

“But I needed to be sure,” Soren continued, “because there is something I need to tell you. I need you to help me with it.”

Ike leaned forward even more. “Okay, shoot.”

“I know who my parents are,” Soren began, trying to keep himself from shaking, “and I need you to convince me I’m not a monster.”

“What are you sa-”

“You’re the only one who has ever made me feel better when all I could do was hate myself,” he rushed to explain. “I don’t know how you do it. But I feel like I’m losing my mind, and I-”

“Soren, Soren, just calm down,” Ike urged, seizing his shoulders. “What are you talking about? You’re okay. Just calm down.”

But he couldn’t calm down. “Ike, I was the child of Ashnard and Almedha.”

“What? How-”

“Kurthnaga told me…just now,” Soren forced the words past his lips. “Ike, for so long I was ashamed of my laguz blood, but Ashnard… It’s Ashnard. The other half is Ashnard.” He gritted his teeth angrily, not even certain what he wanted to say. “What if that is why…I’m not a good person?”

“Soren, what are you saying?” Ike squeezed his arms more tightly. “Of course you’re a good person, and that has nothing to do with whoever your parents are. That’s just you.”

“He- He was already a murderer when Almedha met him. She fell for him anyway. She’s insane,” Soren continued, finding the words were easier now. “Kurthnaga says she wants to meet me, but he might as well be mad too. And Dheginsea… The whole lot of them. It is bad blood…bad blood to have.”

“Soren.” Ike removed one hand to smooth back his hair. “Listen to me. I’ve said it before—I don’t care who you parents are. To me, you are just Soren. I always…” He moved his hand to his chin, forcing their eyes to meet. “Look, you are my dearest friend. You are not a monster. You are not mad. And you are not a bad person.”

“Ike…” Soren pulled away from Ike’s fingers so he could hang his head. “I came to you because I knew you would say that. You can forgive anyone. You see the goodness in everyone. I came to you to make myself feel better…which is why I can’t believe you.”

“ _Shhh,_ ” Ike hushed him. Leaning forward, he pulled Soren’s head into his chest. “You really do always make me so worried about you,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry about that too,” Soren murmured without resisting.

“Don’t be.” He felt Ike’s hand run down hair. “Don’t be sorry anymore. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I exist.”

“I am happy that you exist,” Ike replied calmly. “You’re important to me, which is why I need you to pull yourself together.”

Finally, Soren pulled away from Ike’s embrace. “What if I can’t?”

“You have to. We still have a job to do, remember?”

This wasn’t the first time Ike had said something like this; Soren had even said the same thing to Ike on more than one occasion. He tried to call upon his instinct as a mercenary: _keep going, compete the job, focus until the battle’s over._ But it wasn’t working, and he couldn’t pretend it was. “I can’t live for the job anymore.”

Rather than encouraging him again, Ike seemed to consider this. Then he nodded. “You’re right… We shouldn’t. None of us should. It’s like with the Black Knight—it couldn’t be the end. I had to live for something more after... There will be more for you, Soren. So you have to keep existing.”

To his surprise, Ike’s voice was a ray of clarity, and sniffing, he felt a little better. “I… I’ve been a bit of a wreck ever since we entered this tower,” he admitted. “I just don’t know if I can go on anymore. I want to give up, but I can’t.”

“…Me too,” Ike said quietly, and it wasn’t the response Soren had expected.

“What?” he demanded, his eyes darting to Ike’s. “You… But you just said-”

“I think it’s hard for all of us to keep climbing,” Ike continued, and he passed his gaze over the lethargic mercenaries. “No one knows what’s going to happen, and it’s hard to imagine everything going back to normal after all of this… But, even if it doesn’t, I try to tell myself that something good can still happen again, as long as we’re alive and keep going… I told Yune that I won’t stop until I die, and that’s the truth.”

Soren gave a quiver of a nod. “Then let’s never stop,” he proposed, “because I refuse to watch you die.”

“That’s the spirit—” Ike gave an encouraging smile, and there was a sudden twinkle in his eye “—your majesty.”

“What?” Soren shot to his feet in surprise.

Ike stood too, stretched, and cocked his head to the side. “If Ashnard is your father and Almedha your mother, I’m assuming Pelleas isn’t who everyone thinks he is. That makes you the rightful king of Daein, right?” He raised his chin and tapped it as if suddenly thinking of something. “You could probably challenge Kurthnaga’s inheritance too,” he speculated. “Which do you like more, Daein or Goldoa?”

Soren could only stare. In truth, the ramifications of his parentage hadn’t hit him until just now. “You’re being ridiculous,” he managed when he finally found his voice.

Ike laughed. “Oh no, I’m being serious—” he bowed dramatically “—your princeliness.”

Soren blushed and jabbed him in the ribs. “Shut up.”

He rubbed the spot as if it hurt. “Fine, fine,” he gave in, and his smile melted away all of Soren’s fears and doubts. It was like the sun, clearing the fog from his mind. “I’m sure you’d do a good job, though,” he offered, “for the record.”

“I have absolutely no interest in lording over others,” Soren replied flatly. But Ike’s attitude was contagious, and he gave a small smile of his own. “While I do appreciate the endorsement.”

In response, Ike clapped an arm around his shoulders and started leading him away. “Well, first thing’s first, let’s defeat this goddess and get out of this tower!” He raised his voice further: “C’mon, everyone! It’s time to get moving.” However, only those closest stirred, so Ike released him and set about shaking everyone individually. 

Soren watched him move around, offering rousing encouragement to each person. He felt a little better now, but he was utterly exhausted too. While everyone else had used this time to rest, Soren had wasted it falling apart three times over. Thanks to Ike, he’d been hastily put back together again, and he hoped it would last.


	28. CHAPTER 94: LEHRAN

They continued upward, passing through doors and across winding platforms, until they came to a single long, straight staircase. There was this and nothing else in the void. The steps were illuminated in the same silver-blue light Soren has become accustomed to here, but it now settled low against the stones, as if pressed down by the inky blackness. The mercenaries kept climbing.

Yune walked with them now, and every once in a while, she would murmur to herself about someone’s memories. Soren hoped that didn’t mean there were yet more enemies waiting for them ahead. He didn’t think he had the strength to fight another army.

Eventually the long staircase ended, and they found themselves on a vast hexagonal platform, on the other side of which was the largest set of doors they’d yet encountered. “Everyone, Ashera is close!” Yune announced, “Just beyond these doors. That’s where we’ll find her.” Everyone strode forward, and although their faces were filled with awe and a little trepidation, no one walked with reluctance. 

“We made it,” Ike sighed, “Finally…”

Yune turned to face them all. “You should know,” she announced, “Ashera may have changed since before her slumber. Order and chaos are meant to naturally balance each other. If you take one away, balance is lost. I don’t expect Ashera to have the merest shred of compassion. Talking to her will likely do no good.”

“We don’t have much choice,” Ike agreed, “If talking won’t work, we’ll have to use force. Otherwise, this has all been for nothing.”

“I didn’t come here for nothing!” Skrimir agreed readily.

“Let’s end this!” Tibarn seconded.

“I am willing to do whatever it takes!” Elincia promised.

At this, Ranulf, Reyson, Kurthnaga, Ena, and the Greil Mercenaries all gave their own overlapping vows of readiness.

Ike turned back to Yune. “How about you?” he asked.

“I will lend you my power when the time comes.”

“No, I mean, are you completely chaotic?” Ike clarified, “Are you out of balance? As far as I can tell, you don’t seem to lean too far in either direction.”

“Ashera and I see things a little differently,” Yune explained. Taking a step forward, she took Mist’s hand in her own and smiled adoringly. “During my long sleep, I was wrapped in sweet, gentle music.”

“Heron galdr?” asked Ike.

“Mother’s lullabies?” asked Mist.

“Yes, but more important than the song itself, I was never alone.” She took both of Mist’s hands in hers now, and although she was looking at Mist, it seemed she was looking through her—possibly at all the people who’d carried the medallion before her. “There was always someone singing comfort to me.” With that, she lowered her gaze and Mist’s hands. She stepped back again. “Ashera shouldn’t have isolated herself. She became lonely and bitter, and she lost touch with her people.” Casting her gaze over everyone now, Yune’s expression looked sympathetic. “There is nothing worse than being lonely.” With that, she turned to Ike. “Open it.”

Ike pushed against the door, seeing as there were no handles. “Hold on…” He pressed harder. “This thing won’t budge.”

With a puzzled face, Yune stepped forward and rested her hand on it, as she had unlocked other doors in the tower. But nothing happened. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked, with the whine of a child’s frustration.

The answer came from behind them. “Those doors cannot be opened,” a voice announced calmly, and everyone turned to look. “They have been sealed with powerful magic.”

Ike and Yune pushed to the front. Everyone else fanned out slightly, and Soren ducked past Skrimir so he could see. At the center of the hexagon stood a man with pale skin, long dark hair, and fine white robes, over which he wore a golden stole and a purple sash. On his hip was a light tome and in his hand was a Rewarp staff. Although Soren had only seen him from afar before, he knew this was Sephiran, Duke of Persis, Prime Minister of Begnion, and—if Soren’s suspicions were correct—a very dangerous enemy.

“Sephiran!” Sanaki cried in relief, running to him. “You’re okay… I’m so relieved to see you!”

Sephiran dropped to one knee before her. “I’m sorry to have been cause for concern, Apostle. Forgive me.” Then, without waiting for her permission, he rose.

“Sephiran…” Sanaki seemed suddenly hesitant, but by the openness of her stance, Soren knew it wasn’t for the right reasons. “There’s something I need to tell you—I’m not a true apostle. I didn’t mean to abuse your trust.”

“I’ve known that for some time, Sanaki,” Sephiran replied. “Don’t forget that I was almost a parent to you. It honestly doesn’t make any difference to me whether or not you can hear the Goddess.” His voice was still utterly calm and aloof.

But Sanaki didn’t seem to notice his coldness. She closed the distance between them and wrapped him in a hug before stepping back in embarrassment. “Sephiran… Th-thank you…for having always been there for me.”

“Empress…” Ike walked forward warily. He kept his sword arm raised, his fingers loose and not far from Ragnell’s hilt over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you tell him about General Zelgius?”

Sanaki glanced from Ike to Sephiran. “Yes,” she agreed, seeming surprised by Ike’s distrust. “I suppose I should. Sephiran, Zelgius is dead… I know you put a lot of trust in him, but he was also closely allied with Daein. I’m sure you’ve heard of Daein’s so-called Black Knight? Sephiran, the Black Knight _was_ Zelgius.”

As expected, Sephiran didn’t show the slightest waver of surprise.

“But that’s probably not news to you, is it?” Ike asked. “After all, it was you he was taking orders from.”

“Wha-” Sanaki rounded on Ike, affronted. “Ike! What are you saying?”

Now he did draw his sword. “A man like Zelgius could never serve conflicting interests… Never. Everything he did, he did for one master. Isn’t that so, Sephiran?”

Sanaki raised her hand as if that would stop Ike and turned hopefully to the prime minister. “I think I understand! You wanted to monitor events within Daein!” she guessed, “You sent Zelgius as a spy.”

“Precisely,” he replied coolly. “I felt it important to observe King Ashnard carefully… That was my goal. At the time, it was relatively easy to get an outsider close to the king. Ashnard was famous for employing powerful men with no regard for their background or social status.”

“Obviously he would have needed no convincing once he saw Zelgius’s bladework,” Ike agreed with a growl in his voice. “The Black Knight tried to take the medallion from my father—and killed him. Tell me, Sephiran, whose plan was that? Ashnard’s or yours?”

Soren shivered at the contemptable name, spoken now with all of Ike’s rage.

“Calm down, Ike!” Sanaki ordered. “Sephiran?” She turned to him in exasperation. “Would you please explain?”

“Sir Ike,” Sephiran answered, “I’m afraid your father’s death was an unfortunate result of Zelgius’s own personal agenda. I did not order Sir Gawain killed… However, I must admit I did ask him to seize the medallion and hand it over to King Ashnard. The Goddess was to be freed…and all living people destroyed.”

Sanaki faltered and fell back a step. “C-come again?”

“You’re insane!” Ike barked.

“I couldn’t be more sane, Sir Ike.” Sephiran closed his eyes a moment. “Attend and learn…” He moved his staff to his opposite hand, and when he opened his eyes, he began his story: “My aim has always been to wake Ashera so that she might pass judgment on all the people of the world. What I needed was a war that would spread across the continent. How could I achieve this? My attention turned to the young Daein prince. I could use the ambitious Ashnard for my purposes.”

“Young?” Ike cut him off. “…Just how old are you?”

Sephiran gave him a small, coy smile and continued: “He was a fierce, merciless warrior, and more than anything, he had an earnest desire to change the world. I gave him the tools to eliminate his father and anyone else vying for the throne. When he became king, I allowed him to know of the Goddess sealed inside the medallion…and he became determined to set her free. He could use galdr to release her…or a massive, continent-spinning war to throw the world into chaos. With the true apostle missing—” Sephiran’s gaze strayed to Yune (or perhaps, Micaiah) “—war was the only option.”

“Lord Sephiran, what are you saying!” Sanaki demanded. “Are you saying you wanted this? You can’t be serious!”

“Sanaki.” Sephiran turned to her. “My long life has shown me the people of this world deserve only destruction. The selfishness, the brutality, the false superiority… The disregard for others, and the endless quarrelling of laguz and beorc… The inescapable shadow of beorc oppression, and the indolent masses ruled by a privileged minority in every nation… It never changes. We have been given many chances to correct our behavior and ourselves, and we have squandered them all. The only remaining hope for a peaceful, orderly world is for Ashera to wipe us all out and begin again… To fulfill my ambition of destroying all beings, I had to use you… I had to betray you.”

Sanaki fell to her knees. “This has to be some kind of monstrous joke…”

“So you’ve been pulling strings all along?” Ike asked.

“Correct.”

“Beyond just Empress Sanaki, you were trusted by a lot of people, Sephiran. I need to understand—did you really betray them all?”

“I did.”

“I don’t need to hear anything else then.” Ike raised the tip of his blade now, so that it was pointed directly at Sephiran’s face. “I’m going to make your death as painful as I know how,” he snarled.

“No!” Sanaki scrambled to her feet and tried (unsuccessfully) to push Ike away. “This can’t be happening! I won’t fight you, Sephiran. I can’t!”

“Poor Sanaki,” he tutted in mock-sympathy. “You’ll have no choice but to fight. The doors leading to Ashera are sealed by my own magic. Killing me is your only way through.”

“Sephiran!” Sanaki sobbed, stepping away from Ike.

“So it was you?” Yune asked curiously, walking calmly forward as if she’d just missed the entire dramatic episode. “All of those memories penetrating my mind were yours…” When she passed Ike, he lowered his sword slightly. “Since we entered this place, I’ve seen what you’ve been thinking, Lehran. Give it up.”

This seemed to have a stronger effect on Sephiran than Sanaki’s begging or Ike’s threats. He winced at the name, and Soren wondered how this beorc man could possibly be the heron of legend.

“Goddess Yune…” Sephiran sighed, sounding sadder than when giving his speech. “Why do you insist on calling me by that name? I discarded it long ago. I’ve changed, Yune. Lehran is a thing of the past. All I want now…is the end of all that is. Please don’t stop me.”

Yune reached out a hand but stopped just shy of touching him. “Lehran…”

Shivering slightly, Sephiran (or rather, Lehran) raised his Rewarp staff and teleported himself in front of the giant doors. Everyone twisted around, scrambled backwards, and took defensive stances. “You’re running out of time,” he declared, sounding calm again. “At this rate, I wouldn’t count on being able to face the Goddess. I would hate to see you all denied after coming all this way. Well, now you know who brought you here and why… I suppose that just leaves our fight to the death to take care of.” Waving one hand through the air in front of him, he whispered ancient words Soren couldn’t hear. Then, something incredible happened: spirits began coalescing.

He felt it before he saw it. The fire, wind, and thunder spirits that always inhabited the air, even in a place like this, were swiftly growing in strength and banding together. Around Lehran appeared strange beings of light. The amalgams of fire spirits resembled a transparent red flame. Each one was the height of a man and hovering a foot off the floor. The wind spirits resembled green twisters of the same size, and the thunder spirits were shifting clouds of yellow sparks. Soren knew what these were, although he’d assumed they were nothing but folk creatures from ancient legend. These were Spirit Tails: raw elemental spirits manifesting in physical form. Lehran continued to conjure the Tails until there were a hundred ghostly spirits in the room and the mercenaries were completely surrounded.

Then Lehran moved as if shrugging off a heavy cloak that wasn’t there. White light shimmered down his back, and when it cleared, two large, dark gray wings stretched from his shoulders. Whatever power had concealed them this entire time confounded Soren’s mind. He was an old heron, with old magic, and yet he’d also just used a staff and was now drawing a light tome. These were items of beorc magic, and Soren wondered how he could have mastered them.

“Alright, it looks like we’ve got to take care of this before we can meet Ashera!” Ike called out, “But no one is going to stop us now! Fight! Fight just a little longer!” Upon finishing his declaration, he ran out and struck his blade into a Fire Tail.

The fire spirit, however, manifested a sword-like protrusion of its own and mirrored his movements exactly. Ike struck again and again, but the Fire Tail was fast. As they fought, it grew more humanoid in shape, but it was still faceless and its flaming limbs didn’t move the way human joints moved.

“You heard the man!” Tibarn called, transforming and lifting himself off the ground. He flew, talons first, into a nearby Thunder Tail, but the spirit took on the nebulous shape of an eagle to strike back.

Skrimir transformed next and barreled into a Wind Tail, which grew solid and elongated into a lion-like body, headbutting him back.

Ranulf, Kurthnaga, and Ena also transformed, and the spirits they encountered attempted to mirror their shapes and counter with whatever means the laguz struck them. (Although, it did seem the Spirit Tails were incapable of matching the dragons’ size, and so they only formed part of a dragon at a time, zipping through the air and changing shape almost as fast as they eye could see). When the beorc fighters ran forward to face whatever Tail was closest to them, the spirits repelled them with whatever weapon and style they were attacked.

Soren opened his tome and began chanting a Rexcalibur spell. Although it would be impossible to kill these spirits, it should be possible to disrupt their physical form and cause them to disperse. The spirits had no vital organs or weak points, so the only way to dissolve them would be sheer force. With this thought in mind, Soren determined to give everything he had to every spell he incanted. Care and half-measures were useless now.

He unleashed the spell on a Wind Tail, but it survived and reacted with its own Rexcalibur-style attack. Knowing this would be coming, Soren fell flat on his stomach to avoid it. He covered his head with his arms, and only a few shreds of wind, like falling glass, cut him.

Hopping to his feet again, he determined to cast a layer of wind armor this time, but if it was going to counter a Rexcalibur-level attack, then it would have to be Rexcalibur itself. Considering the spell’s freezing temperature and explosive power, Soren wasn’t fond of the idea of summoning it on himself. But he didn’t have a better solution. He whispered the spell, and his skin prickled into goosebumps. He was cold, and he could see his own breath in front of his face. But as the spell settled, he felt a little safer.

It was just in time too, because the Wind Tail seemed to discover it was capable of attacking on its own. It struck Soren with another explosion, and Soren focused on counteracting each blade of wind with one of his own. When the Tail gave up, Soren unleashed the spells he’d prepared. But still the Tail didn’t dissolve, striking again.

They dueled like this for some time, but then, finally, the spirit dissipated. Panting hard and with a splitting headache, Soren took a moment to look around. Most of the others were fighting one or two spirits at a time, desperately dodging whatever the Tails threw back at them. Forcing his breaths to slow, Soren realized he had to work harder. There were too many Spirit Tails to engage in lengthy sparring matches one at time.

With this in mind, he turned his attention to the nearest Thunder Tail. Strictly speaking, wind magic should have an advantage over thunder magic. He hoped this remained true for manifestations of raw spiritual energy and conjured his next Rexcalibur spell with it at the center.

The Thunder Tail reacted with gyrating rings of lightning—its approximation of Rexcalibur, which was much harder to avoid than the Wind Tail’s replica. Soren only survived thanks to his wind guard, but even then, some of the lightning came through. His forearms were cut as if with a chain of razors, where he’d raised them to cover his face, and his mouth tasted like metal. His heart beat fast from the shock, and he was fairly sure his ears were bleeding.

The battle had become oddly muted, but he could still hear (mostly) and he could still see and breathe. His heart was still beating, so he decided to try again. He cast another Rexcalibur spell, willing it to be as strong as possible so the Tail couldn’t counterattack again. To his satisfaction, the spirit dispersed.

Feeling he was getting used to what to expect, Soren turned to find another Thunder Tail; he would take out as many as he could. When the spirits inevitably countered, Soren grew accustomed to rolling away and using his wind guard to block as much of the electricity as possible, even if that meant breaking it and having to chant a new one while running for his life.

The fight was an excellent distraction from all Soren’s fears. He had to focus his entire mind and all of his energy on every spell and dodge. There was no time to worry about mothers or fathers, dragons or crazy kings. He didn’t have to think about the end of the world, or what would come if the word didn’t end after all.

Eventually, enough of the Spirit Tails had been eliminated to create a clear route to Lehran, and Ike ran forward. Kurthnaga jogged behind him on his large reptilian feet, and Sanaki ran in the wake of his skittering tail. Soren tried to push his way in that direction, in case Ike needed his help.

“Mortals cannot stand against gods,” Lehran declared forlornly, “Don’t you see the futility of what you’re doing?” With that, he whispered a long incantation in the ancient language, which he finished just when Ike reached him.

A wave of golden light swirled around the man, and Soren had to block his eyes to avoid being blinded. A moment later, the force of the attack knocked him to the ground.

When he got up, blinking the spots out of his vision, it was all he could do to fend off the Spirit Tails bearing down on him. Fortunately, Lehran’s attack hadn’t had a large range. Soren had just gotten the edge of it, and those behind him, who’d been undamaged by the light, were charging into to defend those who been knocked down.

Once Soren could stand without fear of being electrocuted, incinerated, or lacerated with blades of wind, he turned his attention to Ike to ascertain that he was safe after the strange attack. To his relief, Ike didn’t seem gravely injured and was currently occupied with the Spirit Tails who’d come to Lehran’s defense. Meanwhile, Kurthnaga had once again cleared a path to the ancient heron and was taking advantage of it.

“How can you do this?” Kurthnaga growled before shooting a beam of blue fire that Lehran blocked with an orb of white light. Four floated around him, and Soren wondered if they were a product of the light tome in his hand. It wasn’t a spell he was familiar with. “How could a man of Serenes, of all people, wish extinction upon anyone else?”

“The laguz and beorc have doomed each other with their mutual hatred,” Lehran called back, and there was a distinct break in his calm demeanor. “You have brought _extinction_ on yourselves!” With that, he began chanting another spell, and four more light orbs appeared around Kurthnaga, where they circled until flying in at the same time and exploding soundlessly. Despite his efforts to shield himself with his wings, Kurthnaga bellowed in pain and collapsed.

He reverted his form, apparently unconscious, and Sanaki walked into the space that was left. “Sephiran…” she said in a desolate voice, “Everything you’ve ever told me, every time you gave your hand to me, every time you smiled… They were all lies?” She had her fire tome in hand, but her grip was loose. Her arms just hung by her side.

Soren didn’t think she had the nerve to attack him, so he returned his attention to the nearest Spirit Tails, determined to fight his way in her direction. Someone needed to stop Lehran, even if she couldn’t.

When the heron still didn’t respond, Sanaki called out in frustration: “You’re the most appalling fraud I’ve ever known!” But she didn’t utter a spell.

“No, Lady Sanaki…” Lehran’s voice was tender, and Soren couldn’t tell if this was a ruse. “I’ve actually tried to lie to you very little. What I have done is hold things back. I’ve also twisted the truth from time to time… But I have only told you one blatant falsehood. That one lie has weighed heavily on me… It makes me hate myself.”

Soren was struck by those words and the genuine pain behind them. He risked removing his gaze from his current opponent, another Thunder Tail. Lehran, it seemed, was crying, and Sanaki was standing in front of him. “Sephiran…” She reached out, but he caught her hand and lowered it.

Just then, the Thunder Tail struck Soren in the back, and he knew in an instant that it was a bad hit. He fell to the ground, unable to move, hardly able to breathe. The wire-like blades had cut into him, and electricity had flooded through his body. He remained on the floor, shaking uncontrollably, and found that his wind guard was gone. The Thunder Tail had lashed straight through it, destroying the spell—and perhaps killing him, but he was too numb to truly register that possibility.

Mist appeared, dragging him to safety and telling him to hold on. Boyd stepped up to confront the Thunder Tail in his place, and past him, Soren could see Sanaki throw down her tome. “No!” she shouted defiantly. “Sephiran, no! I won’t kill you!”

Ike, however, seemed to be of a different opinion. He’d fought his way around the old heron, and Soren now saw his face pop up behind the gray wings. Ike raised his sword and struck, only to be blocked and blown backward by the orbs of light. Turning his back on Sanaki, Lehran fell into battle with Ike instead.

Soren didn’t see anymore, because Mist crouched in front of him. “Talk to me, Soren!” she demanded, “Did you fry that brain of yours? Say something!”

He jerked his head in an effort to focus. “I’m…alive,” he managed to say.

“I see that,” she replied, obviously relieved, “Let’s try to keep you that way. Can you move your fingers? Toes?” Soren obediently moved the required appendages. He had a feeling his feet were badly burned. “Good.” Mist raised her staff in both hands.

While she healed him, Soren watched the others fight. He couldn’t see Ike because Mist was in the way, but judging by the bursts of light coming from that direction, Lehran was embattled with someone. He could still feel Ike’s presence too; he was still alive.

Then the lights ceased abruptly, and all of the Spirit Tails dissolved at once. Mist looked around in surprise. Soren pushed himself up even though the sole of his right foot still felt raw and nerve points twinged all over his body. He limped to where Ike, Sanaki, and the others were gathered around Lehran.

When he arrived, the ancient heron was talking to Yune, and there was blood on the corner of his mouth. Stepping closer, he then saw that Lehran’s abdomen had been slashed deep from the side and he was bleeding out. Soren recognized Ike’s handiwork. Ike himself was currently sitting slightly to the side, where Rhys was healing the burns from Lehran’s light magic. Kurthnaga was still lying on the ground, boasting similar wounds, but the rise and fall of his chest revealed he was alive.

“Death is all you’ve wanted since this started,” Yune was saying, lowering herself to her knees by Lehran’s side. “Everything else has been little more than a terrible side effect. I’m sorry that this was your only goal, but I am happy to help you achieve it… Lehran, I see now what you were going through. It must have been hard. I wish I could have helped you.”

“Please,” he gasped, “Don’t mourn…for me. I’m not worth it.”

“I’m so sorry.” Yune shook her head. “I wanted to help you! I really did!”

“Forget about me. This path was my decision…” He twitched his neck toward Sanaki now. “Please forgive me…” Although she was clenching his hand and sobbing over him, he didn’t seem able to feel it, let alone move. “I… I lied to you.”

“Sephiran… Don’t worry,” she replied in a tear-choked voice, “We will have all the time we spent together… Nobody can take that away. Nobody.”

“Thank you…” Lehran wheezed, while staring unseeing at the abyss above. “I’ll be leaving you now. Zel…gius…is…waiting…”

Sanaki fell into even greater sobs when his last breath rattled into emptiness. “Sephiran! No… NOO!”

Soren watched her grieve and wondered—if Lehran had ever seen Sanaki as a daughter or loved her at all—how could he have wanted to die so badly that he was willing to take the rest of Tellius with him? He seemed to have felt attachment toward Zelgius as well. Had neither of them been enough to keep on living? Then again, after such long lives, perhaps people like Dheginsea and Lehran just didn’t realize what was important anymore. Perhaps they’d lost so much that nothing could fill that hole—not even the entire world.

Mist seized Soren’s arm, gently yet firmly, and drew him away. “Let me finish,” she hissed, “We’re not done yet, and you want to live to fight Ashera, don’t you?”

At her prodding, Soren collapsed into a sitting position. He moved his gaze from Sanaki to Ike, who was still being healed by Rhys nearby. Their eyes met, and Ike gave a small, reassuring nod. “Yes, I do,” Soren finally answered.

After closing Lehran’s eyes, folding his wings, and crossing his arms over his chest, Sanaki joined the others in a cluster of healing and rest. She sniffed and wiped her eyes. Elincia attempted to console her, but she was simultaneously trying to heal Tibarn’s legs (which had become quite mangled by a Wind Tail when they’d been talons moments ago). Reyson sat on the other side, holding Tibarn’s hand and singing softly.

Soren couldn’t tell if it was galdr or just a song, but it did make him wonder why Lehran hadn’t used galdr in this battle. Apparently he hadn’t been able to sing the galdr of release either, even though he’d been the one to seal Yune in the first place. Once again, Soren marveled at Lehran’s use of beorc magic, and both his and Dheginsea’s use of magic unknown to either race. As his head spun, he contemplated the possibility that there was much about magic no one knew. Perhaps the boundaries were softer than anyone assumed—between magics and between the beorc and laguz who wielded them. Perhaps powers could be learned, and other forgotten. If they weren’t passed on, perhaps they could be lost. And yet new magic, like the Rewarp staves, could be invented. Hammerne staves and curse scrolls were rare, but they still turned up when least expected. Maybe latent electricity was buzzing through Soren’s brain, making him fanciful, but these musings made him feel something akin to hope. He didn’t quite understand why.

While he rested, his comrades were using the last of the vulneraries and drinking the last of their water. Strips of clothing were ripped and used to bind wounds that weren’t worth the exhausted healers’ attention. Meanwhile, Elincia, Rhys, and Mist were busy taking care of everyone’s more serious injuries.

The lacerations to his back had been healed and the damage from the electrocution undone, but Soren still felt some numbness that Mist said would take time to heal. The problem was that no one had any time. They had to face Ashera, and they wouldn’t be facing her at their best thanks to Lehran.

“We can rest here a few moments,” Yune decided, having not yet relinquished Micaiah’s body. “But Ashera is nearly ready to make her final judgement. We can’t wait long.”

“We just need a minute to catch our breath,” Ike replied.

“While you do…” she continued, and her voice was sad. “I’d like to tell you what I’ve learned from Lehran’s memories.” She turned her gaze to Sanaki. “You deserve to know why he did what he did.”

“Please,” Sanaki replied, and her voice sounded tired. “There’s so much I don’t understand…”

Yune sat cross-legged and closed her eyes. “Lehran loved Altina, and she him. After defeating me, they decided to live together against the wishes of the heron tribe. However, when Altina became pregnant, they decided their relationship had to end—for the child’s sake if not their own. Altina took a husband and raised Lehran’s daughter as an ordinary beorc. Lehran went into exile in Goldoa, unable and unwilling to live among his own people, who had disowned him for his crime. Generations passed, and the line of Altina became the line of apostles, starting with Altina’s granddaughter Yoram. Later, the line of apostles became the Altina Dynasty of empresses under Apostle Meshua.”

Sanaki shook her head in bewilderment. “Then Sephiran was-”

Yune finally opened her eyes, “Yes, he was your ancestor, Sanaki.”

“But I am not the true apostle…” she mumbled in confusion.

Yune nodded and raised her chin to address everyone. “There is something you all need to know, something that all of Tellius should know… Laguz and beorc _can_ love each other, and when they do, their offspring are neither laguz nor beorc. These children bear a mark—” unclipping and rolling back Micaiah’s sleeve, she revealed the Brand on the back of her hand and raised it for all to see. “They live lives longer than a beorc but shorter than their laguz parent, and they can develop rare skills. Micaiah’s ability to heal miraculously, see visions of the future, sing galdr, and hear my voice are all such abilities, and she has proudly bid me tell you such. Although these children are often demonized, she is not ashamed!”

Soren shivered and suddenly wished he could disappear. He glanced around surreptitiously to be sure no one was looking his way and found that everyone was staring at Yune, entranced by her words.

She continued in a strong voice: “Every first-born daughter in alternating generations of Altina’s direct bloodline has been born with this blood and been named apostle,” she explained, but then her voice grew suddenly sad. “…Unfortunately, Lehran did not learn of this until he ended his exile and met Apostle Misaha.”

“Grandmother…” Sanaki breathed.

“Misaha was exceedingly clever, and she discovered the source of her and her forebearers’ power. When she met Lehran, she discovered his identity and shared all she’d learned.” A tear escaped Yune’s eye, and she shook her head. “Lehran, who had been so lonely and so hopeless for such a long time, suddenly had a many-greats-granddaughter who welcomed him. He finally saw a path to uniting laguz and beorc. He believed these children were the key.” Yune sniffed and wiped another tear.

Soren shook his head despite himself. He hated this story. He hated Lehran’s false hope. He hated being thought of as a key. After being mistreated for so long, why should the Branded have to step up and solve the world’s problems? Why should he have to proudly declare his identity like Micaiah and somehow become a shining beacon for the rest of the world? It didn’t seem fair. Then again, hiding out in the desert in shame like the rest of the Branded didn’t seem right either.

“Misaha planned to expose the truth about the apostles and her own blood,” Yune continued, “She wanted to declare the rights of all Branded throughout Begnion and beseech the leaders of the other nations to acknowledge them as well.” She sniffed again, wiping her other eye. “But…then she was murdered and the heron tribe wiped out. Lehran rushed to Serenes, but the damage had been done. He lost all hope and wanted, once again, to die. He had already attempted to kill himself many times before, but the same binding magic that extended his life refused to let him take it… In the Serenes Forest, he found my medallion lying forgotten on an altar…” She closed her eyes again. “He determined to end all things if that meant the end of his pain…and of himself.”

No one spoke when her story ended, but Sanaki had finally stopped crying. The healing was done, and Mist and Rhys just sat with their staves across their laps. Some people were still staring at Yune, but most were just staring at the floor, digesting what they’d been told. No one looked particularly disgusted or angered by her story. Still no one looked at Soren.

Eventually it was Reyson who surprised everyone by speaking up: “I wish he had come back to Serenes,” he said softly. “None of us knew that Lehran was still alive, but we were raised to think of him as a hero… My people could be strict, but I’m sure they would have forgiven his relationship with Altina. He didn’t have to be so alone… None of this had to happen.”

Tibarn sighed bitterly. “Right, because your father is always so forgiving of us?” he asked pointedly. “I know you don’t want to dishonor your people’s memory, but ‘strict’ is putting it mildly.” He kicked up one knee and, leaning against it, stared at Reyson. “If Serenes back then was anything like it was when we were growing up, I have no doubt Lehran was raised to hate himself for loving anyone except an appropriately vetted heron girl.”

Reyson shook his head. “Times were changing…”

“Nothing was changing!” argued Tibarn. “It’s stupid tradition and closemindedness that led to the situation we’re in now. I’m not saying Lehran isn’t to blame—the guy did some awful things. But it’s not his fault alone.”

“Are you saying my people deserved to be slaughtered just because they were ‘closeminded’?” Reyson hissed, getting to his feet.

“No, of course not!” Tibarn stood too and raised both his palms. “And I don’t think Lehran thought that either—seeing as their deaths sent him off the deep end.” He lowered his hands and passed his gaze over everyone watching their spat. “Look, all I’m saying is: if we don’t learn anything from what caused this situation then nothing’s going to get better.” He pointed a finger at Skrimir, saying, “Gallia.” He next pointed at Elincia, saying, “Crimea.” Then he pointed at Sanaki, Micaiah, and Kurthnaga: “Begnion. Daein. Goldoa. I need you all to give your word, right now, that you will live through this and make your nations better.” He jerked a thumb at himself, “I’ll do it for the bird tribes.”

“Very well,” Sanaki was the first to agree. “I will do what my grandmother sought to do. I will reveal the truth. What else would you have me vow?”

Tibarn grinned to the side and nodded. “People are people,” he declared, “Love is love. Family is who you choose and who chooses you back. Got it?”

Skrimir, Sanaki, Elincia, and Kurthnaga all raised their hands solemnly and gave overlapping vows of agreement. Then Yune ran forward, hugged Tibarn, and squealed: “You meatlings say the nicest things!” When she released him, her face was split in a giddy grin. “Micaiah says Daein’s in too!” With that, she skipped back toward the door. “Shall we?”

Ike stood up, and everyone else followed his lead. “Get ready!” he ordered, and the Greil Mercenaries began checking their weapons, tightening their armor, retying bandages, and stretching their sore limbs.

Soren was already as prepared as he was going to be, so he just watched the others. That was when he saw Reyson standing on tiptoe to kiss Tibarn on the mouth. The sight sent a shock through him that felt nearly as strong as the Spirit Tail’s attack. Although he’d long suspected their relationship and Soren supposed they probably did this quite often when he wasn’t looking—it was still a shock to see. When they parted, they were both smiling, and Reyson seemed to have forgiven Tibarn’s snub against the heron tribe. They were looking at each other as if completely alone, as if none of the other royals or mercenaries were standing around them, and as if they certainly weren’t about to go fight a goddess.

Or perhaps, they looked exactly like they were going to fight a goddess.

Pulling his gaze away, Soren turned his back to them, and to his surprise, Ike was standing right there. He blushed, feeling he’d been caught doing something taboo just by watching them. Then again, he supposed that feeling was the problem Tibarn had just demanded his peers help solve.

“Soren,” Ike said, apparently oblivious to his discomfort. “How do you…feel about all of this?”

Soren stared up at him and found he was just happy to have those kind, caring, beautiful eyes gazing back at him. “It feels…too good to be true,” he admitted. “But maybe it can be…true, I mean.”

Ike smiled and blinked slowly, saying: “I want to talk to you, when all of this is over.”

“Okay. I mean, yes… Er, me too,” he struggled to reply, but it was the truth. If they survived today—if the world was saved, and even if it wasn’t—Soren would tell Ike the truth about how he felt. Because when he was looking into Ike’s eyes like he was now, he didn’t feel a shred of shame anymore.


	29. CHAPTER 95: ASHERA

Ike and Yune pushed the doors open, and beyond them was nothing but white light. Elincia was the first to walk into it, followed by the rest of the mercenaries, but Soren held back. Then Kurthnaga and Ena strode in, and Soren noticed none of the disappearing people were casting any shadows. The light just enveloped them. He couldn’t even sense them anymore.

Skrimir and Ranulf went next, followed by Tibarn and Reyson, hand in hand. Then Sanaki entered, and finally Ike walked forward so Soren took the plunge as well. Sothe and Yune would be last, but Soren knew they wouldn’t be far behind.

The light faded, becoming more manageable as Soren squinted to see his new surroundings. Everyone was standing here (wherever ‘here’ was), and there were no doors behind them, only the abyss. Up a short flight of steps was a vast octagonal platform, marred only by broken pillars that wouldn’t have led anywhere, even if they’d been whole. There was no ceiling (or walls for that matter). There was only darkness.

Yune and Sothe appeared, and Ike led everyone onto the platform. At its center stood a tall woman, and as Ike led them forward, Soren realized just how tall she was. She towered at least fifteen feet, and she was dressed in a long black gown that reached from the line of her jaw all the way to the floor, where is fanned out around her. Both the trail and the draping sleeves were fitted with white feathers. On the top of her head was a matching headdress. Her hair was so long that it reached her feet, and it was the soft pink color of dawn’s first light. Her features were regal and serious, even with her eyes closed, but Soren found it difficult to look at her face for more than a moment. He was certain—this was the goddess Ashera.

“It’s her,” Ike noted.

“Ashera…” Yune whispered back. Then she stepped forward and raised her voice: “Ashera! It’s me…Yune. Can you hear me?”

The goddess didn’t move, open her eyes, or offer any sign she’d heard the question.

“Please!” Yune walked closer. “Please listen to me! You don’t need to pass any more judgement! You can return the people to normal!”

Now finally, Ashera opened her eyes, but her gaze was so strong Soren couldn’t look at her face at all now. His head swam if he tried. “I cannot,” Ashera replied, and although she wasn’t speaking particularly loudly, her voice penetrated deep into his mind, becoming louder than his own thoughts. “There are still people in my world who are made of fallible flesh,” she continued, “This imperfect world has passed beyond control. Now, I shall pass my final judgement.”

“Wait!” Yune cried out. “You can’t violate the terms of the covenant, Ashera! One-thousand years still hasn’t passed. We were woken by galdr, not by mankind’s war.”

“It matters not,” Ashera declared, and the force of her voice made some of the mercenaries clamp their hands over their ears or press their fingers to their temples. “During my long sleep, beorc and laguz continued to fight. The children of flesh will never learn nor grow. Time will pass as always, but nothing can change the destiny of mankind.”

“You have to look deeper!” Yune begged. “The first judgement didn’t turn everyone to stone, and I’ll tell you why.” She took another step closer. “Because these people are not the people we once knew! Ashera, these people have become something else.” She gestured behind her at the eclectic mix of mercenaries and royalty. “People—the Zunanma—were the only living creatures that we didn’t create. Animals _evolved_ to become Zunanma, who then became laguz and beorc… That evolution continues today!” She took a couple more steps, even though she seemed to be pushing against an invisible force. “Ashera…I’ll tell you a secret you didn’t know.” She pulled back her sleeve to again reveal Micaiah’s Brand. “Children can be born of a beorc and laguz parent. They are still few in number, but if allowed to flourish, mankind might become anything! If the two races continue to evolve, I’m sure something wonderful might emerge! You can’t just bring that to a halt.”

“Do not claim certainty of anything,” Ashera warned, “The children of this world are born of chaos, and nothing could be more uncertain. The world does not require the evolution of man. My responsibility is to protect order, the balance of all life-forms. Beings that evolve without my guidance will only destabilize and threaten this world. Because of that-”

“You have to wipe out everyone made of flesh?” Yune cut her off. “Is that what you’re trying to say?” She adjusted her stance, straightened her spine, and raised her chin. “…Very well then. You and I have nothing more to talk about. My only choice is to defeat you.”

“Yune, do not be absurd,” Ashera replied, not sounding the least bit amused (or even annoyed). “You cannot overthrow me, just as I cannot overthrow you.”

“Of course not,” Yune agreed, but there was a smile in her voice. She cast an hand behind her, pointing at the assembled mercenaries. “But _they_ can!” Turning around, she extended both arms. “Everyone! The time has come. Defeat Ashera, or everyone you love will be a statue forever!”

“These people…” the goddess observed, “they carry your blessing, Yune… You mean to fight me?”

She turned back to face Ashera but didn’t reply. Ike strode forward until he was standing beside her and answered in her stead: “Ashera, you are _our_ goddess. We live in the world you made, and that makes us your people. But now you make it sound like we’re some sort of filthy creatures who just decided to settle down here and cause trouble.”

“Ike, don’t say it like that,” Yune hissed as if insulted on behalf of all people.

But he continued: “We’re not perfect. Sometimes our brains tell us one thing, while our hearts tell us another. And war…” He shook his head. “The more we try to avoid it, the worse it is when it comes. People are probably the dumbest creatures alive.”

“But…” Yune grinned and tilted her head. “Somehow, you’re also the most endearing. It’s your imperfections that make you so interesting… Imperfections very similar to ours,” she added, giving Ashera a meaningful glance.

But the goddess didn’t seem at all charmed by Ike’s speech. She said nothing.

“We know that we’ve messed up,” he continued, “We’ll do our best to avoid more war and make peace our highest priority. Ashera, just give us one more chance. All we ask is for one more chance.”

“You expect me to reverse my judgment?” Ashera replied (sounding completely uninclined to do so). “The Goddess of Order cannot be so…mercurial. My decision is final.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be, huh? Then we will fight—” Ike drew his sword “—and we _will_ save our people. Make your peace with whatever the gods worship. Your end is near.”

“ _My_ end is near?” Ashera repeated.

Ike adjusted the grip on his sword and widened his stance. “In every battle that’s mattered in my life, I’ve always been the one left standing, no matter how slim my odds. This battle means more than any of the others, because it’s for the life of every person I’ve ever cared about. I will win this fight too!”

At this, everyone roared and cheered—even Soren. And soon the Greil Mercenaries were running. Ike was running, Yune was running, and Soren was running too. Ashera swept one graceful arm through the air, and dozens of Spirit Tails manifested to defend her. The charge came to an explosive halt, and fighting erupted on all sides.

Soren thought he’d reached the limit of his strength, the end of his power, and the very edges of his own mind long ago. He didn’t know what more he had to give, but he refused to give up now. He continued to chant new spells, and they continued to work. Now that he had completely passed his own limits, he felt infinitely powerful. He truly didn’t know what he was capable of—so it might as well be anything.

He roared hoarsely as he fought: shouting the spells at the top of his lungs and hardly stopping to catch his breath. The rest of the mercenaries were equally loud and unrelenting, and Soren realized they were all fighting just like Ike. The voiceless, soulless Spirit Tails were strong, but they didn’t stand a chance in comparison.

Gradually, they moved closer to Ashera, but she wasn’t wasting this time just standing there passively. Whenever Soren looked up, he saw her moving her arms in gentle arcs, conjuring some sort of light barrier around herself.

“Everyone, listen carefully!” Yune called suddenly. She’d never left them, instead choosing to fight in Micaiah’s body. “In order to reach Ashera, we must first destroy the aura protecting her, got it?” Everyone roared in unison to show they’d heard. “Attack the aura!” she repeated, sending a torrent of burning light zig-zagging through the nearest Spirit Tails.

Sothe was fighting with his back to hers, slashing away at a Thunder Tail. The Tail matched almost every stroke with its own dagger of forked lightning. But Sothe was faster, and he was steadily shredding the spirit to pieces.

Behind them, Ena blasted a Wind Tail with her crimson breath until it poofed out of existence, and beside her, Kurthnaga was doing the same to a Fire Tail.

Oscar, Boyd, and Rolf were working together to eliminate one Tail after another. If the three brothers managed to surround and attack the spirit at the same time, the Tail couldn’t maintain its form for more than a few seconds.

Mist was fighting near them, using the holy sword Alondite to strike offensively and her Mend staff to block the returning attacks. Ike was beside her, swinging Ragnell with all of his strength and not refraining from punching or kicking the Spirit Tails as he would a physical opponent. Although it must have hurt to come into direct contact with the spirits, this tactic seemed to disrupt their forms enough for the sword’s next strike to do even more damage.

The same was true for Tibarn, Skrimir, and Ranulf, all of whom attacked with their whole bodies despite the pain that every scratch, blow, or bite must have caused them. Reyson was always overhead, singing to make their animal forms stronger and more resilient.

Not far from the laguz, Gatrie and Shinon were fighting together, and they seemed to be relying on their tried-and-true maneuver: Gatrie on defense while Shinon unleashed a relentless onslaught. With his shield raised, Gatrie was able to absorb the impact from most of the Spirit Tails’ assaults, while Shinon shot arrows into the Tails as fast as he could keep his arm moving to fire them. Thanks to Yune’s magic, his quiver was never empty.

Soren now turned his attention to the other side, where he saw Mia spinning, dipping, leaping, and diving between the Spirit Tails. She kept her feet moving constantly, and she seemed to be fighting at least three or more Tails at once. By keeping them in close quarters, she was able to use them as shields against the others’ counterattacks.

Rhys fought behind her, where he was relatively safe and only one Tail could approach him at a time. He was defending himself with light magic while he scanned the troops, looking for injuries. He was no juggernaut, but as soon as he noticed someone needing his attention, he didn’t let a single Spirit Tail get in his way or slow him down.

He was aided by Elincia, who wielded the holy sword Amiti and was proving she could be just as dangerous fighting on two feet as she was from a pegasus’s back. Her once-gleaming white armor was scuffed and bloodied, and her fine clothes and gossamer cape were torn. Her hair was disheveled under her battle crown, but she was unmistakably the Queen of Crimea.

Last was Sanaki, who was using Rexflame spells to corral and burn the Spirit Tails from the floor upward. This was especially true for the Wind Tails, which couldn’t help but suck up the fire and burn from the inside out. She appeared to have gotten over Lehran’s betrayal and death, or at least, she must have cast her grief aside, because right now she was fighting just as fervently and loudly as the rest. Then again, Soren supposed it could still be grief driving the spells she screamed and the flames she summoned with such power that they melted the stone floor.

As for him, Soren was keeping the winds moving ceaselessly. He was the epicenter of a storm of Rexcalibur spells, and his skin, hair, and clothes were covered in frost where the water particles in the air froze to him. But he didn’t mind the cold so long as the spells were also freezing his enemies. The Spirit Tails slowed down when encased in individual prisms of wind, one after another. Then, all at once, they exploded. Loose tongues of flame would scatter before extinguishing. Gusts of wind would fly out in every direction before losing speed and disappearing. And the air would crackle with zaps of latent electricity before they popped innocuously away.

Eventually Soren reached the wall of white light surrounding Ashera, and although there were still plenty of Spirit Tails around, he targeted the aura instead. He cast three Rexcalibur spells, giving his full might to each one. But there was no visible effect on the wall, which was now opaque and blinding

To make matters worse, merely standing near the aura seemed to be draining the life out of him. He felt weak and dizzy, and he struggled to keep his legs underneath him with some semblance of balance. The light wrapped him in a warm, soothing sensation. It promised to take all of his pain away, like a healing staff.

But Soren still had enough sense to realize he wasn’t being healed. In fact, the opposite was occurring: the wounds the Spirit Tails had given him were opening wider and digging deeper. Blood flowed faster. Refusing to be taken in by the aura’s power, Soren summoned another Rexcalibur, and this time he refused to let it go. If his strength was going to be sapped anyway, he might as well be funneling it into a spell.

The gyrating winds sliced mercilessly against the aura, slowly carving it like a sculptor chipping away at marble. Beside him, Sanaki was doing the same thing with Rexflame: attempting to drill into the wall with a vortex of fire. Elincia and Mist stabbed at a section of the aura alternatingly, and Rolf and Shinon fired from a distance. Kurthnaga released a powerful jet of blue fire comparable to the one he’d summon to destroy Castle Nox, and even Sothe was there, slicing at the aura as if he might be able to cut out a doorway.

Then, finally, Yune called over the battle: “Step back, out of the way!”

Soren didn’t have to be told twice, he stumbled backward, wanting to be away from the dreaded aura. The others made themselves scarce, and Yune pushed both palms forward, casting an enormous blast of light magic at the center of the aura where everyone had been attacking.

The wall flickered to nothing. Now Ashera was revealed, frowning as if in disapproval. “The aura’s gone!” Yune announced, although it was obvious.

“Excellent,” Ike called as he raced past her. “Now we can finish this.” He raised his sword and swung, but Ashera deflected it easily with the back of her wrist.

“Be judged, mortals,” she declared before making a pushing gesture with her other hand, and a wave of blue and purple light rolled gently away from her in all directions. Soren saw it force Ike to his knees, and a moment later, Yune fell too.

Then the wave hit Soren, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. His knees hit the ground, but the jolt that ran through his body was wrong. His limbs felt heavy. His legs felt hard and detached. His entire body felt cold, and it had nothing to do with his spellcasting. This cold came from inside.

Something had cracked, and he realized it was him—more specifically, his knee caps. Stone had hit stone and fractured. He was crumbling. He needed to stabilized himself so he wouldn’t fall again and break further. He tried to move, but his body was simply too heavy, and his joints wouldn’t respond. He tried to breath, but the air was being chased out of his lungs. He was being turned to stone from the ground up.

He focused on the feeling of his own heartbeat, which was thumping as fast as a rabbit’s right now. He was frightened, but as long as he felt fear in his chest and in his blood, that meant he was alive. He wasn’t stone yet.

Soren didn’t know how much time passed, but he reasoned that, if any time was passing at all, that meant the petrification wasn’t instantaneous. It was taking time, which meant he could resist it. He tried to move again, and when this didn’t work, he tried to see or hear; he tried becoming conscious. He knew the others had to be out there. They always were.

“You would still face me in battle?” asked a voice, and Soren realized it was Ashera’s. If she was talking, that meant someone must have overcome her judgment. Someone was still fighting.

“I would,” answered another voice, and Soren was overjoyed to recognize it as Ike’s.

“I need no further evidence of your kind’s imperfections,” Ashera replied, “This will hardly be a battle at all. Simply an end. Perish, flawed one.”

All at once, Soren came back to his body and struck the ground with his palms. He gasped, and his lungs expanded with air. When he arched his back, it cooperated. When he bent his neck, it moved. He looked at his own arms and legs. They were flesh, not stone. His knees hurt, but he could still stand (albeit shakily).

Getting to his feet, he saw the rest of the mercenaries either trying to pick themselves up or not moving at all. But they weren’t stone—not their bodies anyway. The laguz had all reverted their forms, and Tibarn and Reyson must have fallen out of the air. Tibarn’s right wing and arm both looked broken, and Reyson was bleeding from a head wound.

Soren turned his gaze back to Ike, who was trading blows with the goddess. Although she didn’t wield a weapon, she brought her hands together to create a ball of blue light that she then used to block Ike’s attacks. Hitting it seemed to hurt Ike more than her, and each collision disintegrated his gauntlets, his gloves, his sleeves a little more. Even his skin was peeling away in ribbons of flesh that stretched up his arms.

Naturally, Ike was trying to hit her instead of the ball. This should have been relatively easy due to the fact that he was less than half her height and had easy access to her legs. But she was fast and kept herself well-guarded.

Even when Ike managed to hit her, Ashera showed no sign of pain. She didn’t bleed, and the wounds did nothing to impede her movement. But Soren wasn’t particularly surprised by this. After all, she was not made of ‘fallible flesh’ as she accused them of being.

Since Ike didn’t seem able to defeat Ashera on his own, Soren staggered closer and began chanting Rexcalibur spells. He targeted the goddess’s head and shoulders where Ike couldn’t reach. In response, she broke the ball of light in two, and moved each hand separately to block both their attacks.

Then Shinon picked himself up and started firing arrows, although his movements were more disjointedly than before. Mist got to her feet, dropped her staff and ran forward with both hands on the hilt of her sword. Boyd was next, limping forward and raising his axe despite his shaking arms.

But then, with the back of her hand, Ashera batted Mist away with such force that she went flying before rolling to a stop. She didn’t get back up.

“MIST!” Ike screamed, but he didn’t retreat to check on her. Ashera was trying to do the same thing to him, moving her arms so quickly it seemed she had more than two. Ike managed to counter one of the attacks, splitting her arm from between her index and middle finger all the way down past her wrist. However, Ashera didn’t seem the least concerned, and her body kept moving as if the wound hadn’t occurred.

With her other hand, which seemed to move independent of her attention, she threw a ball of blue light at Shinon, who tried and failed to avoid it. Although it only hit his legs, he was sent spinning backward with incredible force, and Soren had no doubt both legs had been broken (if not his back too). He didn’t get up.

At this time, Skrimir and Elincia had managed to come back to themselves and were charging Ashera from either side. She fended them off (along with Ike and Boyd) and then sent a blue ball at Soren, which he narrowly dodged.

A moment later, one of Ashera’s legs emerged from a slit in her gown and kicked Skrimir so hard that his body seemed to fold. He flew across the platform, reverting before he landed.

Arrows were flying at her face again, and Ashera blocked them, turning her gaze on Rolf, who’d just managed to get himself onto one knee. She took him out in the same way she’d blasted Shinon, while at the same time, her opposite leg swept Boyd’s legs out from under him and then stomped down on him.

“No, Boyd!” Ike called out, trying to reach for his friend’s body. But Ashera took advantage of his distraction and tried to swipe at him in the same way she’d dispatched Mist. Ike barely managed to duck and avoid it in time. But her hand flew over him, straight into Elincia, who was knocked to the ground and didn’t rise. “Elincia!” Ike cried in a panic.

Soren heard commotion behind him and stopped attacking Ashera in time to see that Rhys was trying to heal Tibarn and Reyson, both of whom had regained some semblance of consciousness. Meanwhile, Yune was healing Mist while also looking anxiously at Ashera. Peripheral commotion drew his attention to where Mia, Oscar, and Ranulf were fighting the few remaining Spirit Tails.

Deciding he’d already separated his attention from Ashera long enough, Soren turned his gaze in time to see a glowing orb heading straight for him. He unleashed the Rexcalibur spell he’d just prepared at it, but it was already too close. Although he stopped the ball, the pressure exploded back at him anyway, sending him to the ground, hard.

Lights popped in his brain, and air whooshed out of his lungs. Gasping and disoriented, Soren struggled to roll over and prop himself back up on his arms. The world wobbled around him. Sanaki and Kurthnaga were helping Ike fight Ashera now, and Ena had gone to help Mia, Oscar, and Ranulf fight the Spirit Tails.

Ashera’s body seemed to be coming apart at the seams—every seam being a place where Ike or someone else had managed to cut her. And yet she fought on without slowing. Managing to make a connection with Kurthnaga’s chest with her blue-glowing palm, she pushed him back. His claws dug ruts into the floor as tried to stop himself from sliding. But when he did stop, the scales on his chest were dented and mangled. He couldn’t maintain his form for more than a second after that and collapsed as nothing but a boy.

Soren chanted another Rexcalibur spell, hoping he could still be useful. After a few tries, he got to his feet again.

Gatrie and Sothe had also come back to themselves and after defeating a couple Spirit Tails, they ran to support Ike and Sanaki. However, no sooner had they arrived did Ashera kick Sothe straight into Sanaki, taking them both out with one blow. That left only Ike and Gatrie to oppose her.

Soren continued chanting spells—but then something broke inside him. His breath caught in his throat. He forced himself to finish the spell, but nothing happened. He recited a new Rexcalibur incantation, but still nothing happened. He tried a simple Wind spell, but he couldn’t even stir the air.

Tears prickled his eyes as he realized he’d finally exhausted his power. He had nothing more to give, and it probably didn’t matter anyway. His wounds from earlier had never stopped bleeding, and he was about to pass out. He had lost too much blood; he had expended too much energy. His knees were fractured and swelling. He had a concussion, and his vision was blurry and uneven. But even now, he fought off the shreds of oblivion that tugged at his mind. He had to see what would happen. He had to see Ashera defeated. He had to see Ike win.

Just then, the goddess managed to slap Gatrie away, crumpling his armor as if it were paper. Only Ike remained. But Ashera was kneeling on one knee now, and her movements were finally starting to slow.

She only wielded a glowing orb in one hand, and it was smaller. Soren dared hope Ike could land a finishing blow. Now that her other hand had lost the power it’d held, Ashera used it and her arm to merely block Ike’s attacks, and in this way, he swung straight down, severing her arm so her forearm merely floated adjacent to her elbow.

After this, Ike slowed down and stepped back. Perhaps he sensed his foe was nearing defeat and was giving her a chance to surrender. Ashera didn’t move to strike him again. She said nothing, and her face was unreadable. The places where she’d been cut were aligning, and the seams were oozing back into a solid mass. She was, quite literally, pulling herself together.

Yune jogged up to Ike, calling: “We have to put an end to this! Take all the power I have!”

Ike glanced at her and gave a small nod. “Thank you. I’ll use it well.”

Even before he’d accepted, however, the blue flames had started swirling out of Yune. They were brighter and spun faster than any of the previous times she’d bestowed her blessing—and the sight filled Soren with horror.

The fire shot up and then down again, straight into Ike. It coursed so swiftly and there was so much of it that Soren couldn’t comprehend how Ike could possibly contain it all without burning up from the inside. Then, Ike started to scream.

“No…” Soren mumbled, “No… Ike…” He tried to stand up but fell again. He could only watch.

The bird on Yune’s shoulder fell to the ground, apparently dead. Then the flames finally stopped rushing out of her, and Micaiah’s body also fell. Now, Ike was wreathed in the flaming aura. But he wasn’t Ike anymore. He was Greil—or rather, Greil on the day Soren had seen him slaughter an innocent family and then his own wife.

Ike was still screaming, and although his voice was unmistakably his own, it was a sound Soren had never heard before. He seemed to be crying out with a hundred voices, each one conveying a unique intensity of rage, terror, grief, malice, pain, frustration, exhilaration, and joy.

Ike lurched forward, but he moved almost too fast to see. He struck Ashera repeatedly, but his movements were jagged and inhuman. “I-ke!” Soren croaked, a sob constricting his throat. He couldn’t stand to see him in so much pain.

That day in the village, Greil had absorbed just a fragment of the goddess. He’d merely touched the medallion in which she’d slept, and her latent power had seeping into him, stripping away his mind and identity. He hadn’t been able to do anything but destroy whatever was in front of him.

Now, Yune was very much awake, and Ike had absorbed her entirely. It was so much worse than Soren could have imagined, but he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t blink. He couldn’t cover his ears or block out the screams.

Ashera’s face finally showed emotion—and she looked afraid. She raised her arms to try to defend herself, but she looked feeble next to Ike’s raw power. He didn’t show her a shred of mercy. He just kept hitting her and hitting her, until the goddess was nothing but a mosaic of her former self: a cloud of disconnected fragments. One of those fragments was her mouth, and it breathed: “Please…”

But Ike couldn’t hear her, because he wasn’t Ike any longer. He just kept cutting until the fragments that contained her eyes closed as if weeping.

Still, Ike roared and shrieked like a monster, and still, he struck her. Soren tried to get up again, and he managed a few steps before he fell. He was closer now. Too close. Not close enough. So far away. He felt the bloodlust, the haze of pain and madness, rippling off Ike like waves of heat. “Stop, Ike… Please, stop…” Soren mumbled, but he knew his voice would never reach him.

Then, all of the fragments that comprised Ashera suddenly shattered and fell like glowing snowflakes. Now Ike pulverized the floor, opening craters under his sword and sending stone chips flying. The glowing fragments faded one by one, but Soren didn’t think it had anything to do with Ike’s continued smashing.

When the last light was gone, his rage was unabated, and he was standing in a maelstrom of destruction. He seemed to be vibrating, his chest heaving and his head jerking around, perhaps looking for his next opponent. But it was hard to tell behind the blue flames.

Then, the aura became concentrated again. It shot out of Ike, whose shoulders sank in exhaustion and whose knees buckled. His screaming ceased with a hoarse, broken gasp.

“Ike!” Soren called, but he still didn’t seem to hear him.


	30. CHAPTER 96: THE PRICE

Before Soren’s eyes, all of Ike’s wounds healed rapidly and his skin became fresh and clean. The flames coalesced in the shape of a large bird, and gazing at it, Soren realized for the first time that they were no longer on a floating platform in an abyss. They were in a room with walls and a domed ceiling. The pillars were no longer broken, and the light was no longer disembodied. It was being cast by round lanterns shielded with blue-tinted glass along with a strong beam of daylight that poured through a round hole atop the rotunda. They were once again in the real Tower of Guidance. Soren might have been relieved—if he wasn’t still worried about Ike.

The flaming bird now shifted, shooting to the floor and taking the form of a young girl: Yune. She approached Ike, who got to his feet, and Soren noticed there was still a thread of blue light reaching from Ike’s left foot to Yune’s right. They were still connected, and that fact made Soren nauseous with unease.

“What of you?” Ike asked the blue, glowing girl. His voice was an echoey, disconnected, almost dreamlike. “Are you leaving?”

“I…am,” Yune replied weakly. “But…I believe it’s…for the best… This world does not need gods… We’ve always failed you… We made you weak. That is why we must…go.” She lowered her eyes sadly.

He sank to one knee, bringing himself closer to her level. “You don’t have to leave.”

“Hm?” Yune raised her eyes again.

“It’s true, we don’t have much use for gods,” Ike agreed thoughtfully, “but, well—” he rubbed the back of his head and offered a small smile “—you show us what we should aspire to. We need inspiration. You give us a reason to grow, to become more than we are. And if we don’t have that, Yune, we’re nothing more than…statues.”

“Can you…forgive me?” Yune asked, searching his face with wide eyes. “For the pain…I’ve caused.”

“I don’t know,” Ike answered honestly, breaking their gaze and glancing at the floor. “But you have already forgiven us…” He raised his eyes to look at her again. “How could we not?”

Yune released something that was halfway between a sigh and a sob.

“We are all family,” Ike said as if to console her. “We will try to understand one another, even when we disagree.”

“…You’re right,” Yune finally replied, smiling sadly. “I _will_ try…one more time.” With that, her light faded until nothing but a ghostly silhouette was left. Ike reached out to grab it, but by the time his fingers reached her, she was gone.

He stood back up, staring at his hand, looking like he’d lost something of unsurpassable value, but Soren knew to look at the ground. Yune’s shadow moved toward Micaiah’s body, which lay unmoving while Sothe pumped her chest with both his hands. He seemed oblivious to Ike and goddess, and Yune now seemed oblivious to him and Micaiah. The shadow passed by them to settle on the corpse of the little orange bird.

The blue thread now connected Ike to this bird, but he didn’t seem to notice, staring at his hand as he was. However, when the bird hopped to its feet and chirped a short tune, it drew his attention—along with the attention of everyone else who, like Soren, was still conscious enough to watch. Chirping again, the bird beat its wings and flitted into the air.

Yune flew higher and higher until she disappeared through the hole in the ceiling. She was swallowed by the warm daylight, and at that moment, the blue thread was yanked out of Ike like a hook from a fish’s gullet. He collapsed forward without even trying to catch himself.

“Ike!” Soren yelped in alarm, and he wasn’t the only one. He got to his feet again, and this time he found he had the strength to stumble over to Ike’s side, half-falling into the crater he’d smashed into the floor

Ike wasn’t moving. His eyelids were closed except for a sliver showing the whites, and his face was completely slack. Soren was the first to reach him, dragging himself the rest of the way. He laid a hand on Ike’s chest, hoping to feel the rise and fall of his breath. But he felt nothing. Lowering his ear to Ike’s heart, he hoped to hear it beating. But there was no sound. Soren started shaking in panic, because along with what his eyes and ears were telling him, the beacon of Ike’s presence had gone dark.

“He’s not breathing!” Soren called helplessly.

Mist had been making her way over at a fast limp, but now she tripped on the broken tiles. “I-Ike!” she cried, crawling the final stretch. “Brother! Ike…no…” She felt for a pulse under his neck with quivering hands. “No, no, no…”

Then she got to her knees, tilted his chin up, clamped one hand over the other over his heart, and began compressions just as Sothe had done for Micaiah. She breathed in time with the breaths she wanted him to take.

Soren moved his hands down Ike’s arm until he found his fingers. The flesh had completely regrown and was now uncharacteristically soft and smooth. Ike appeared completely uninjured, so he didn’t understand why this was happening.

The rest of the mercenaries gathered around, and they murmured to themselves, whispering Ike’s name and willing him to wake up. Then Micaiah approached. Like Ike, she looked unharmed despite the battle, but her head was ducked and her steps were slow. Sothe was walking beside her with one arm across her back and the other holding her hand.

“What happened?” Soren demanded. “What did Yune do to him?”

Micaiah shook her head.

“Don’t snap at her like that,” Sothe shot back. “She just went through the same thing!”

Micaiah shook her head again. “I came back,” she said. “I have faith Ike will too.”

Despite her own injuries and obvious exhaustion, Mist didn’t slow her compressions. The seconds ticked by, and Soren could only stare at Ike’s face and feel the world was ending all over again. He would have preferred Ashera’s judgment to this.

“Come- back- Ike,” he whispered through his own choking. “You were- going to tell- tell me something- when all of this- was over. It’s over now…so come- come back.”

“Brother, please,” Mist pleaded, and tears ran off her nose onto her hands.

“C’mon, Boss,” Boyd murmured.

The whispers continued, until suddenly, Ike’s eyes shot open, his neck arched, and he sucked in a panicked breath.

“Ike!” Mist cried in relief, dropping her head onto his chest and scrunching the tattered hem of his shirt in her hand.

Ike stared at everyone with wide eyes, as if he didn’t quite know where he was or what was going on. But Soren was just glad to see those eyes open again. Relief flooded through him, and for the first time in his life, he truly felt like everything was going to be fine. He didn’t have a care in the world, and nothing mattered but this moment.

He also felt an overwhelming desire to express this relief and joy in some way Ike might understand, so when his frantic, darting gaze next came in Soren’s direction, he bent over and pressed his face against Ike’s. First their foreheads met, and Ike’s hand, which was still firmly clasped in Soren’s, clenched tightly. His eyes closed, so Soren closed his too. Then their lips brushed, and Soren was once again filled with relief just to feel Ike’s warm breath and know he was alive. He pressed his mouth against Ike’s, just for a moment, just to plant something: a bit of pressure, an idea, a confession, a promise.

Then he raised his head slightly, and he was happy to see that Ike had relaxed. When his eyes fluttered open, he no longer looked as confused or afraid. Soren felt his face breaking into a smile and tears pressing against the back of his eyes, as if they’d just realized what they’d almost lost.

Then he felt someone pull his collar, gently dragging him into an upright position. “Sheesh, let the man breath,” Tibarn joked. Soren’s face flushed, but in truth, he wasn’t ashamed. The tears that had collected in his eyes started spilling over, so he set about wiping his face with the arm that wasn’t holding Ike’s hand. He refused to let go, and since Ike’s fingers were still applying pressure right back, he didn’t think Ike wanted him to.

Slowly Ike propped himself up with his other arm, and Mist shifted as if to catch him if he fell. But he grew steadier and curled up one leg to balance himself. Pressing a hand to his head, he looked around. At least he seemed to recognize everyone. “What…happened?” he asked. “Is Ashera- I remember-” Shock and fear flashed through his face, and suddenly he was digging his nails into the back of Soren’s hand.

“It’s fine,” Mist consoled, “We’re all safe now. Ashera’s gone. You defeated her.”

“Yune…” Ike breathed, glancing around as if looking for her.

“Yune is gone too,” Micaiah answered, kneeling next to Mist.

“I remember talking to her,” Ike said, and his grip relaxed somewhat. “She said she was going to try again.”

Micaiah nodded. “I think she went off to restore the stone people. But wherever she is now, I don’t feel her presence.”

“What…happened to me?” Ike asked next.

“Your heart stopped,” Micaiah answered. “The same thing happened to me when Yune left my body to go into yours.” She took a deep breath and touched her chest. “Yune told me it might happen. She said that putting too much of herself into a mortal body…takes a toll. That’s why she always used the bird as a second vessel... But when we were fighting, she put much of her power into me.” Her hand turned into a fist. “And then she put all of herself into you… I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “But we both came back. I’m sure Yune knew we would…”

Ike gave one slow nod. “It’s okay… She knew I was willing to take that risk.”

“Can you stand?” asked Elincia, stepping forward and extending her arm. Ike took her hand, and Soren finally released his other. He stood hastily and, sniffing, found his tears had finally ebbed.

Ike gazed around the room—particularly at the destroyed floor on which they were standing. He shivered visibly, and Soren wondered if he remembered his rampage. Taking a step, he immediately lost his footing, but Ranulf caught him before he fell and lent him his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Ike said, “I just feel a little weak.”

“You and me both,” Ranulf sighed. “I think _I_ could sleep for a thousand years after this.”

Soren picked his way over the broken tiles, finding he could still walk despite his lightheadedness and the incredible pain in his knees. Everyone was injured and barely holding onto their lives. Even though Rhys had tried his best to control the damage and keep anyone from dying in the last moments of battle, Ashera had left most of them with broken bones, fractured ribs, and bruised organs. As soon as they’d reached a section of unbroken floor, those too injured to remain standing lied down. Those who could at least drag themselves among the worst injured stripped off each other’s armor and triaged each other’s wounds. This included Micaiah and Ike until they each grew too dizzy and had to sit to the side. Soren helped the best he could.

Rhys, Mist, Elincia, and Sanaki healed each other sufficiently and then set about attending the others. The goal was to make everyone well enough to get outside. Hopefully there would be water, vulneraries, and other medical supplies awaiting them there, and possibly even other healers if the city had been unpetrified.

Soren didn’t know what they would find beyond this tower, but whatever the case, he knew he would be able to face it as long as he had Ike at his side. With this thought in mind, and unable to do any more for his comrades, Soren went to sit beside Ike and await his turn to be healed. 

He couldn’t feel his hands or feet anymore, and his body only moved in stilted jolts as his fried nerves rapidly swayed from pain to exhaustion. He was still bleeding, but he’d lost track of his wounds long ago. Right now, he just wanted to sit next to Ike.

When he collapsed, Ike caught him and guided his head so that it fell against his chest. “Hang in there, Soren,” he whispered. “Stay awake, or I’ll worry you’ve died on me.”

“You’re…one to talk,” Soren managed to reply.

“I’m sorry,” Ike said softly. “I didn’t want to leave you…but I had to do what needed to be done.”

“…I know,” Soren sighed, feeling sleep seizing his mind. ‘You always do,’ he thought, but the words didn’t reach his lips.

“Soren.” Ike jostled him slightly to keep him awake. “The thing I wanted to tell you…can I tell you now?”

“If you must…” he breathed, not opening his eyes.

“The thing is,” Ike began, and his words were just the barest whisper above Soren’s head. “I think I love you.”

The happy trill that ran through Soren’s body was enough to twist his mouth into a smile and open his eyes again. For so long, he’d refused to believe this was possible. And yet, he had always hoped, deep down, that Ike would return his feelings. “I know I love you,” Soren replied, and finally saying the words caused his heart to flutter. The fluttering carried him away, out of thought and mind, until he was encased a blanket of sleep.

When Soren awoke, he was lying in a row with the other injured. They were still in the same room, and judging by the light coming through the rotunda, not much time had passed. He raised his head, which felt incredibly heavy, and turned to where he felt Ike’s presence.

“Aren’t you going to take it?” Elincia was asking, holding out Ragnell hilt-first. 

“No,” Ike replied, taking a step back.

“It is yours. You should keep it.”

“No,” he repeated. He had one arm across his stomach, holding his opposite arm in an oddly vulnerable way. His shoulders were bunched.

“Well, we should at least take it out of the tower,” Elincia insisted practically.

“No, just leave it here.” Ike took another stepped back. “I’m sorry.” With that, he turned and walked briskly away while rubbing his arm.

“Ike?” Elincia called after him, but he didn’t respond.

Soren got to his feet, and after the room stopped spinning, he limped in the direction Ike had gone. He was sitting atop the stairwell with his head in his hands, but before Soren could reach him, Ranulf touched his arm to stop him. “Give him a minute,” he advised.

Soren stared at Ike’s back and ultimately decided to heed Ranulf’s advice and stay away. Turning, he passed his gaze over everyone else. No one was dead, and it appeared no major limbs had been lost. Soren checked his own body and found that only the deepest cuts and worst fractures had been healed. His other wounds had merely been bandaged. He was desperate for water, but he knew there was none to be had.

Everyone seemed to be in the same state. While he watched, those who were awake and moving gently woke the others, telling them it was time to go. “Let’s get out of this goddess-forsaken tower!” Tibarn announced.

Ranulf winced at his words. “Too soon, Tibarn,” he hissed, “too soon.”

Tibarn chuckled weakly. “At any rate, let’s get moving.”

“Yes, I am certain our friends will want to see us alive!” Skrimir agreed. He had more energy than anyone else despite the bandage over half his face and the entirety of his left arm, which was also in a makeshift sling. He was bent nearly double, and at an awkward angle. He limped toward the stairwell, but he limped with zeal.

Ike stood up when they approached, and he seemed to wipe his eyes before proceeding down the stairs. He remained at the head of the group, so Soren couldn’t see his face. But his behavior was unnerving, and Soren’s bliss was tempered. Apparently there was reason to worry about the future after all. Then again, of course there was. Everything wasn’t going to be easy, simple, or good from now on just because Ike was alive. Depending on what and who they found—or didn’t find—at the base of this tower, the future could be bleak indeed.

Descending the tower didn’t take nearly as long as climbing it, and each floor contained regular rooms, halls, walls, and ceilings. But there was no furniture, decorations, or anything; each room was completely empty—save for the corpses. After descending the first section of winding stairs, they found Lehran’s body, and Skrimir offered to carry him on Sanaki’s behalf. Despite his injuries, he draped the heron over his bent shoulders.

A few floors down, they started coming across the bodies of Goldoan soldiers. When they eventually found Dheginsea, Kurthnaga heaved the corpse onto his back despite the fact that his father’s body dwarfed his own. Nasir was nowhere to be seen, until they reached another of the empty floors and found him slumped against a wall. He was still breathing and could be roused enough to mumbled incoherently despite his fever. No one had water to give him, but Ike carried him piggyback, promising food, water, and a good healer once they got outside. 

As they walked, Sanaki told Kurthnaga they would exhume the rest of the dragons’ bodies in the coming days and see to it that everyone was laid to rest appropriately. “We can give them their last rites,” she offered. “Although, I don’t know what meaning that has anymore. There will be no Goddess to hear our prayers…not that she was ever listening anyway, I suppose…” No one had a response to this.

Eventually they passed Zelgius’s corpse, but because Ike was already carrying Nasir, he was forced to leave his nemesis behind. Next, they passed the bodies of Levail and the rest of the Disciples of Order under his command, but none of the Disciples were wearing golden armor anymore. The metal had reverted to Begnion crimson. Sanaki vowed these soldiers would be buried with honor as well.

Down still more steps they walked, and through more rooms, some large and some small. But these rooms had windows, and although they were still high up, it was possible to see people walking in the streets below—a lot of people.

“Yune did it,” Elincia breathed through the tears of relief in her voice. She pressed her head against the wall beside the window. “Everyone has been saved!”

“Then let’s get down there!” Gatrie cheered before coughing up a bit of blood. His face was ashen. “The people are waiting for their heroes!”

They made their way down the spiraling stone staircase with slightly quicker limps. Eventually they passed the Disciples of Order who’d fought under Lekain’s command, and these too were now wearing red armor instead of gold. While they were here, Reyson quietly asked Tibarn to carry Hetzel’s body back with them. “For my brother…” he said simply, and Tibarn needed no more explanation. Despite his still-broken wing, he hefted the corpse of the elderly senator over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

Then, finally, they reached the first floor, which was a wide round hall where the winding staircase finally came to an end. The front doors were open, and sitting just within the threshold was Leanne, Caineghis, Renning, Sigrun, Kyza, and—Soren was relieved to see—Titania.

“Ike!” she cried in relief, “Everyone!” She ran forward, and the Greil Mercenaries ran to meet her. They swamped her like a wave, and soon she was being passed around and around, hugging everyone. Soren saw her head was bandaged; she had a scar across her left eye and part of her left ear was missing. Her right hand also seemed to be missing two fingers, but it was hard to tell through the thick bandages. She limped and had a bandage wound tightly around her leg too. Just like the mercenaries coming down from the tower, it seemed she’d only had time to heal her worst wounds. But she was alive, and that was what mattered.

While the mercenaries jostled one another, Leanne tackled her brother, Caineghis embraced his nephew, Elincia cried into her uncle’s shoulder, Sigrun fussed over Sanaki with tears in her eyes, and Kyza seized Ranulf in a relieved hug, pulling him off the ground.

“They’re back! They’re back! Come quick!” came Astrid’s voice outside, and soon she and a dozen other friends and family members were rushing through the doors to welcome them. Soren was hugged, squeezed, patted, and clapped on the back by more people than he could process.

But at the same time everyone was trying to get in to see them, the tower team was trying to get out to see the streets and courtyards beyond. As excited at the mercenaries were to see Titania again, they were also eager to breathe fresh air and feel sunlight on their skin. Soren was no exception.

When he finally emerged, what he saw was a spent battlefield littered with carnage. Closest to the tower stood Yune’s Chosen, all of whom were severely battered but still breathing. The barricades they’d erected were in complete disarray and the bodies of red-armored soldiers lay everywhere, as far as the eye could see. But interspersed among them were regular people, standing and staring. Some wore the fine robes of nobles, and others wore the equally-fine but more modest-looking robes of the nobles’ servants. Still others wore the aprons of cooks or the smocks of artisans. There were young children and elderly folk. There were performers in costume and guards in armor. They all stared at the people coming out of the tower with the same confusion, awe, and horror with which they stared at the dead army. Soren wondered if they had any idea what had happened.

“You should speak to your people,” Sigrun encouraged Sanaki. “We haven’t been able to answer their questions since they’ve begun coming out.”

“How long were we in the tower?” Sanaki hissed back.

“Five days,” Sigrun explained. “We were fighting the Disciples of Order, but they all collapsed a short while ago. A bird flew overhead, and dare I say, it was scattering some sort of light in its wake.” Sigrun shook her head. “Sooner after the Disciples fell, people began emerging from the buildings. Honestly, Apostle, I do not know what to tell them.”

“Empress,” Sanaki corrected. “Call me empress… And I will tell them the truth.” With that, Sanaki strode forward with as much grace as her injuries would allow.

Soren didn’t see this going well, but he wasn’t Sanaki’s advisor so he couldn’t tell her what to do. Ike came to stand behind him as they all waited for Sanaki to speak and hopefully clear the way. Relaxing slightly, Soren found that, if he was honest, the truth did sound irresistible at the moment—even if it would lead to certain chaos.


	31. CHAPTER 97: AFTERMATH

The citizens did not enjoy being told that their goddess had never loved them, that she had tried to destroy them, or that she was now dead. They were uncomfortable with the idea that they’d been saved by a coalition of laguz and beorc, and they were terrified to learn the world had aged two months while they’d been asleep in stone cages. They were confused by the fact that their apostle claimed not to be an apostle after all, and they were absolutely repulsed by her claim that their previous apostles had all possessed laguz blood.

But Sanaki managed to calm the seething horde long enough to get all of the injured people into Temple Mainal. Then she dismissed most of the servants, telling them it was now their job to check on their families and spread word of what had happened. Those who remained out of a commendable sense of duty were assigned the tasks of finding edible food, summoning the best healers in the city, preparing a meal (Sanaki insisted it didn’t have to be fancy), and fixing beds for the wounded kings, queens, soldiers, and mercenaries (again, she insisted they forgo the perfectly turned-down coverlets and confectionary gifts).

The sixty or so people who’d fought as Yune’s Chosen now filed into Temple Mainal’s main banquet hall, where they languished around the fireplaces and braziers. As tired as he was, Soren remained by Ike’s side. Ike, in turn, seemed determined to remain with the cluster of royals who marched in Sanaki’s wake and did their best to help her take control of her overturned city.

Ministers, legislators, and court officials approached Sanaki nervously, asking what had happened to the dukes of the senate. Sanaki didn’t mince words, telling them the senators were all dead and traitors to boot. “In the coming months I will arrange an inquisition to discover who among the dukes’ assistants and cohorts knowingly aided in their illicit activities,” she threatened, “but for now, let’s all put our best foot forward repairing the damage Ashera has wrought on our nation. Consider this a chance to prove yourselves useful to me.”

The ministers bobbed their heads anxiously, and Sanaki promoted several of them on the spot. She gave them temporary and improvisational power and ordered them to spread her decrees throughout the city and lands beyond. They scrambled to write down her words as she dictated the story of what had happened for a second time, and they never offered the slightest objection. When she finally got rid of them, Sanaki practically pushed them out the door, saying, “When you’re done with that, the next task will be to stockpile food from the south and allocate it to the northern holds. We’ve lost two months’ time and I guarantee the winter weather has damaged the herds and food stores. I would like to avoid a total famine if possible.”

“F-famine?” stuttered one minister.

“Two months…” repeated another as if in a daze.

“It-it will be done, Empress,” vowed a third, and Sanaki slammed the door in their faces. Pressing her back again it, she slid to the floor.

Caineghis, Tibarn, Elincia, Kurthnaga, Nailah, Pelleas, and Micaiah all congratulated her on her quick thinking, resolve to tell the truth, and ability to make her subjects obey her despite their obvious shock and bewilderment. Then they expressed their desire to return to their own nations as soon as possible to resolve the inevitable chaos unfolding there.

“Tomorrow I will arrange the fastest transport possible,” Sanaki promised. “But we all need to rest and heal tonight.”

The other royals agreed, and Elincia helped Sanaki to her feet. Then the group dispersed to console and encourage their friends and subjects throughout the hall. Since their rooms were not yet prepared, most were lounging on the benches and floor, and many appeared asleep already.

“Let’s check on the others,” Ike said softly, and Soren nodded.

Although they’d hardly left each other’s side since their mutual confessions, they hadn’t discussed their feelings, what they were to one another, or what their futures may hold. Ike had barely spoken at all, in fact, despite his efforts to be present and help. Soren supposed that was understandable. Everyone was weak and tired right now.

Words aside, they had certainly not kissed again, and Soren now felt guilty for forcing that on Ike when he’d just woken up and probably hadn’t realized what was going on. He wondered if he even remembered it. That being said, Soren certainly did, and he wanted to do it again every time he glanced at Ike’s face. It was an irrational, frivolous waste of his remaining mental energy, but he couldn’t help it.

He tried to tell himself now wasn’t the time for such things. Everyone was exhausted despite their victory, heartsore despite their relief, and still sick and injured despite numerous healing sessions. No one knew what would happen now, and everyone wondered what was happening in the rest of the continent. No one could forget the horrors and trials they’d faced, or what they had almost lost.

When Soren and Ike approached the mercenaries, Titania was describing what it had been like to fight the undead Disciples day after day, never knowing if the rest of the mercenaries were ever coming back. “We never had much time to repair our fortifications before the Disciples’ bodies were restored and they returned. We never had much of a break.” She shook her head. “But one of those times, we considered sending another team after you… We tried the doors, but they were sealed shut. They didn’t open again until it was over.”

“You did well,” Ike declared simply. “You all did well.”

Titania gave a small smile. “Thank you, Commander.”

Ike didn’t return the expression. He just stared at the floor in a way that made Soren feel like he was far away.

Titania seemed to notice this too. Her smile weakened. “Now, tell me again from the beginning,” she said, turning to the others. “I want to know everything that happened.”

“Well, we had five battles,” Mist answered. “But I’m positive that each one didn’t take a day, so I have no clue how the timing works out.” She sighed and leaned back. “Time was so strange there, Titania! You wouldn’t believe it... I don’t think we were in the Tower of Guidance at all, not really. There was all this swirling mist, and _so_ many stairs…”

Everyone let Mist tell the story, only offering occasional interjections and additions. Boyd was sitting beside Mist with his elbow on the table and his hand on her upper back, where his fingers absentmindedly played with the ends of her hair. Mist was leaning into him slightly, and their legs were touching. Soren wondered if Ike noticed, or if he cared. Then again, Mist and Boyd had been acting more affectionate toward one another for a long time now.

However, Ike was still staring at the floor, and Soren didn’t think he was listening to Mist’s story at all. He wondered if he should touch his back, or his hair, or his leg—some small caress to remind him that he was here and that he cared, just like Boyd was doing for Mist. But Soren still didn’t know what Ike wanted or what he would accept from him. Pushing physicality on Ike now, when he was in this strange mood, felt wrong—as if he would be taking advantage of his vulnerability. On the other hand, Soren truly did want to do something to help him feel better

He was saved from having to make a decision by food and drink arriving, which seemed to improve Ike’s mood slightly. Soren was glad too, since he’d had only water to fill his stomach since exiting the tower.

Once he’d eaten, he felt incredibly sleepy. Ike was dozing off too. He looked more peaceful with his lips parted and his eyelids drooping, and he would startle himself awake whenever he almost fell asleep.

After the meal, Mist claimed to be too tired to finish her story, but that was probably for the best because Titania seemed too tired to continue listening. She cradled her head on her uninjured hand, and her eyes were half-closed. Soren was actually relieved Mist hadn’t finished, since he wasn’t looking forward to her retelling of what had happened to Ike when he’d absorbed Yune’s power (and he wasn’t looking forward to Ike having to hear about it either).

Fortunately, the servants responsible for preparing rooms soon returned to the banquet hall. They picked their way among the sleeping warriors, telling them that their beds were ready. Soren nudged Ike awake, Boyd helped Mist up, Titania yawned widely, and the rest of the mercenaries scraped themselves off of the benches with plenty of sleepy grumbling. One of the servants led them to a corridor off which branched the rooms they’d been assigned. There was one for each of them, and Soren’s was beside Ike’s.

While everyone else stumbled in and fell onto plush blankets, Ike lingered in his doorway. “Are you feeling alright?” Soren asked quietly

“Yeah,” he replied, “I’ll be fine.” It was hard to tell in the dimly lit hall, but Soren thought his left eye was twitching.

“Good…” Soren replied lamely, then adding: “Good night, then.” He hoped Ike just needed rest and would be more focused tomorrow. With this thought in mind, Soren went to his own room, donned fresh clothes from the wardrobe and lied down on the soft mattress. Despite his concerns about Ike, Soren soon fell into a deep sleep unmarred by dreams.

He was awoken sometime later by a scream, and he knew even before he opened his eyes that the voice belonged to Ike. He jackknifed awake, listening hard, but a second shout didn’t come. Stepping onto the cold floor, Soren raced to the door, but it flung open the moment he reached it. Ike ran straight into him, nearly knocking him over, but then seized him tightly. “Don’t leave me alone,” he begged in a harsh, desperate whisper.

Soren was so alarmed he could barely speak, but then he managed to say, “Okay,” and prise off Ike’s vicelike arms. He led Ike to the bed, where he sat and dropped his head into his hands.

Titania and others were already in the hall, some bearing candles, others stumbling blindly. Leaving Ike a moment, Soren went to meet them. “What happened?” Titania hissed.

“Nothing, just a nightmare,” he answered, although he wasn’t sure the answer was that simple.

“Is the Boss alright?” Mia asked, trying to get a view past Soren through the crack he’d left in the door.

“He will be fine,” Soren replied firmly. “It’s Ike. He is always fine.”

Titania gave a small sigh. “I don’t know… He didn’t seem like himself this evening. Did something happen in the tower?”

“You could say that,” Shinon replied coolly, leaning against the wall. Soren was a little surprised he’d gotten out of bed for this, but then he reminded himself that all the mercenaries cared about Ike, even Shinon.

“Is he going to recover?” Titania asked delicately.

Soren was about to answer in the affirmative, but Mist responded first. “I don’t know,” she said in a soft voice. “But let’s just give him some time… Take care of him, won’t you Soren?”

“Of course.”

“We’ll be right over here,” Mist offered, gesturing to her room, and Soren realized ‘we’ must be her and Boyd, who was still stuck to her side like a leech.

“I’ll be right here,” Titania seconded, pointing to her own room across the hall. “Let me know if you need anything.”

Soren nodded again, retreated, and clicked the door shut behind him. Ike hadn’t moved a muscle. “Ike…?”

He startled at his name, as if he’d been falling asleep sitting up again.

Walking closer, Soren touched his shoulder and coaxed him into lying down. Ike obeyed like a limp doll. “What is going on in that thick skull of yours?” he decided to ask outright. “I cannot help you if you do not tell me.”

Ike didn’t answer immediately, but his hand found Soren’s wrist. “Do you promise you won’t leave?” he asked, staring into the dark.

“I promise.” Soren sat on the edge of the bed, and Ike moved his hand so their fingers were hooked.

They remained like this for a while, and eventually whatever had come over Ike seemed to fade. “I’m sorry,” he said, clearing his throat and releasing his hand. “It’s passed now.”

Soren didn’t ask what ‘it’ was, instead saying, “You can sleep here if you want. I’ll sleep on the floor.” He got up, but Ike grabbed his hand again.

“No.” Evidently embarrassed by his hasty reaction, he let go and pulled himself into a sitting position. “I’m sorry. I mean…if you’re alright with it, can you just lie here with me? If I wake up again, I’ll feel better knowing you’re right there.”

Soren stared at him a moment, but then he tried to take this offer in stride. “Well, you do not leave much room,” he sighed, “But I am sure I can make it work.”

Ike smiled and scooched over. Soren walked to the other side of the bed and lied down. Ike pulled up the blanket to cover them both and then turned onto his side. Soren mirrored him so they were facing each other. “I’m sorry about this,” he whispered, “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting. I’m going to get it under control… I just keep remembering…Yune. I just… I feel like I don’t have any control.”

It was too dark to see, but Soren wondered if Ike was crying. “It’s okay. I don’t mind,” he replied honestly. “After all the times you’ve supported me, I would be glad to take care of you... But I don’t feel like I am doing anything. I don’t know how to help you.”

“This is enough,” Ike breathed back, “Just being here is plenty.”

“Then I will be right here.”

Ike was quiet for a long time, and Soren wondered if he’d managed to fall back asleep. But then his voice filled the darkness again: “I always thought you didn’t want this.”

“What?”

“I wondered…sometimes,” Ike admitted, “But I didn’t think you would ever…accept this. You were always so disparaging of other people’s feelings. You always said laguz and beorc shouldn’t be together and Branded shouldn’t exist at all. You even told me once that _love_ doesn’t exist…”

He seemed to be waiting for a response, and eventually Soren gave one: “I was wrong,” he said, “and I was upset when I said that.”

“But, still...” Ike exhaled heavily. “I assumed you’d never be interested in anyone, really—let alone someone like me.”

Soren winced. “I have always found you…interesting.”

Ike moved so he was now staring at the shadowy ceiling. “I can’t help but wonder if you’re just playing along. If you’re just too loyal to say no.”

“Ike…” Soren thought hard about how he wanted to explain this. “When I first met you, you were my savior. Then you became my friend, and eventually my commander. Regardless of how I saw you, you were always my single most important person.”

“Soren…” Ike sounded suddenly uncomfortable.

“But I stopped worshipping you a long time ago,” he continued. “Over time, I… I came to love you. The problem was that I never saw myself as your equal. I never thought you would love me back.”

Ike didn’t answer immediately, and Soren hoped he’d said the right thing. Finally he spoke again: “You were always important to me too,” he said softly, “but I didn’t understand why. I would think about you, worry about you, watch you, and want to be around you more than the others… And then, in the past couple years, there were…stirrings.”

“Stirrings?” Soren repeated suspiciously.

“You know—” (Despite the darkness, Soren thought Ike must be blushed deeply now. He even felt warmer, as if his skin were hot coals) “—like when you’re a kid and you’re just figuring out how your body works.”

Now Soren was blushing. “Oh…”

“Maybe I should’ve realized it sooner. But I’ve never felt this way about anyone else, and you were just…constant. You were always there.” He gave a self-deprecating chuckle. “How was I supposed to know?” But then he released his breath. “Or maybe I did know. But I didn’t think…” He tilted his head back a tick and didn’t finish the sentence.

Soren opened his mouth to say something, but Ike rushed on:

“Anyway, in the tower, when I finally remembered our time together as kids, I thought that explained it. I thought that was the answer… But it wasn’t. It didn’t sit right. I wanted there to be more.”

“Ike…”

“Tibarn’s speech was the thing that finally got it into my stupid head.” He raised a palm to his forehead. “We were about to fight Ashera, and I had no idea what was going to happen. But I decided that, if I lived, I was going to tell you.”

Soren sighed. “I gave myself a similar ultimatum….and I am very glad we both survived.”

“This is so strange…” Ike dropped his arm and turned back to him. “I don’t know how to act or what to say.”

“I am having the same predicament,” Soren commiserated. “But perhaps we can figure it out together.”

Ike reached out a hand and found the side of his face in the dark. “It’s like you were sealed behind glass—something Tanas might have kept in his mansion. I felt like I would get into trouble if I even got close…but now I can finally touch you.” Then Ike’s hand lifted and froze. “It’s okay, right? If I touch you like this?”

Soren couldn’t stop himself from laughing, despite his best efforts to choke it back so not to offend him or belittle his question. Even in the darkness, he thought he saw the silhouette of Ike’s cheek rise in a smile, and he was content to see he hadn’t insulted him.

“I love the sound of your laugh, but you hardly ever do it.”

“I will try to laugh more from now on,” Soren promised. “And yes, it is okay.” He reached out his own hand and rested it just below Ike’s ear. His skin felt so warm. Soren’s thumb found a ridge: an old scar. “Also, please never invoke Tanas’s name when attempting to compliment me again.”

Now it was Ike’s turn to laugh, and Soren’s heart soared at the sound. “Fair enough.”

“Are you…feeling better?” he asked hesitantly, not wanting to ruin the good mood. “You had me worried when you burst in here.”

Ike moved his hand from Soren’s neck to his shoulder and then down his arm, where it stopped just above his elbow. “I’m sorry about that. It was just a nightmare.”

“It is alright, if it is not just a nightmare…” Soren proposed tentatively, recalling Mist’s words. “But whatever the case, we should probably sleep now.”

“You’re very practical, Soren.”

“I know,” he agreed, and Ike didn’t say anything else. Soren closed his eyes and eventually fell into a deep sleep, this time full of pleasant dreams.

Unfortunately, it seemed Ike’s dreams were less pleasant, and he woke with wordless shouts four more times before the night was over. Each time, Soren would inevitably startle awake, but each time, Ike would calm down, apologize, and go back to sleep. Soren held his hand, imagining he was finally making up for all the times Ike had helped him with his nightmares back in Gallia.

In the morning, Ike apologized again for the restless night, and Soren once again told him he didn’t mind. Ike dressed in his own room and bathed on his own, but they reunited again in Mainal’s banquet hall with the rest of the Greil Mercenaries and an assortment of other friends. Soren was relieved to see that Ike was acting like his regular self.

Although he wasn’t stuffing his face, he was eating enough. His shoulders seemed relaxed, and he was chatting with Kieran about his plans for when he got back to Crimea. He wasn’t joking or laughing like Kieran, but he was quick to smile. Soren sat across from them and ate his breakfast quietly.

Now that he was less worried about Ike, Soren gave a moment’s thought to his own problems. He’d seen Almedha from afar since exiting the tower, but he hadn’t had a chance to approach her—not that he’d been prepared for it yesterday. He wasn’t sure if he was entirely prepared now. Glancing around the room, he didn’t see her, nor Nasir or Kurthnaga for that matter. He still had time to figure out what he wanted to say.

Soren was deep in these thoughts when a sudden commotion across the table caught his attention and pulled him to his feet. Makalov had passed behind Ike, who’d promptly leapt from the bench, seized Makalov’s sword from his belt, and punched his snub nose into his face.

It was over as quickly as it started. Makalov was sitting on the ground, holding his bleeding nose in surprise. Everyone’s conversations died as they stared. Ike seemed to realize what he’d done and dropped the sword as if it had burned him. Then he glanced around in fear and confusion. “I’m sorry,” he said brusquely to Makalov before turning and striding out of the hall.

The mercenaries all tried to go after him, but Mist ran to the front, saying, “I’ll talk to him! It’s fine. Just wait here.”

Soren, however, refused to stay behind. He followed Mist into the hall, and when she glanced either way, trying to figure out which direction Ike had gone, Soren took the lead. “This way,” he said, relying on his Branded sense.

“Did he say anything last night?” Mist whispered anxiously.

Soren shook his head. “Only that he kept dreaming of Yune… And he mentioned feeling a lack of control.”

“She really did a number on him, didn’t she?” Mist sighed sadly.

Soren didn’t reply, and soon they came to the small study where Ike had sought refuge. After giving a polite tap on the door, Mist let herself in.

Ike was standing at a desk in the back, and Soren smelled blood. When he and Mist approached, he saw that Ike had stabbed the back of his hand with a letter opener.

“Brother, what are you doing!” Mist rushed forward, yanked out the dull blade, and started wrapping Ike’s hand with an ink rag from the desk.

Ike merely stared ahead, his arms completely limp. “…I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I don’t know what happened. He surprised me.”

“It’s okay; I’m sure Makalov will be fine,” Mist soothed. Soren didn’t know what to say, so he let her take the lead.

“I shouldn’t hold a sword again,” Ike continued numbly.

“Well, that’s no reason to mutilate yourself!” Mist’s voice was scolding now. She patted his hand. “Come on, let me heal this.”

“But that’s what Father did,” Ike countered. “He cut the tendons in his sword hand…so he could never do it again.”

“You’re not Father,” Mist replied firmly. “If you don’t want to pick up a sword, then don’t.”

“How can I be the commander if I don’t-”

“Come on.” Mist cut him off and pushed him toward the door. “My staff is in my room. I’ll heal this right up.” Ike went with her, and they passed Soren with only small glances. Mist’s face was encouraging, but Ike’s eyes darted away in shame.

Soren didn’t know what to say, so he decided to leave Ike in Mist’s care and report back to the banquet hall. He told everyone Ike was fine and merely tired and jumpy after the battle. He would have repeated Ike’s apology to Makalov, but he and Rhys were both gone, off to fix his broken nose. Soren sat back down and tried to eat, but the food stuck in his throat.

When he next saw Ike, he seemed back to his old self again. He’d already met with Makalov to apologize, he’d met with Sanaki to give his recommendation on government appointments for Tormod and Muarim, and he was now lounging in a parlor with the rest of the mercenaries. Everyone seemed more than willing to forget this morning’s disturbance.

Many of the royals would be leaving today, and they were currently waiting for word that preparations were complete so they could say goodbye. However, it wasn’t a messenger but Tibarn himself who came to their door. Reyson was with him (as always), and Naesala and Leanne walked in behind them.

“We’re taking off!” Tibarn announced. “Wanted to say farewell and good luck, and all that.” He clapped Ike’s shoulder and then passed an approving smile over the rest of the mercenaries.

“Will you be heading back to Phoenicis?” Ike asked clapping Tibarn on the arm in return.

“We’ll stop by Phoenicis, then wing straight on to Serenes.”

“Serenes?” Ike glanced at Reyson. “Why there?”

“Empress Sanaki has kept her promise,” he explained, “Serenes has been formally ceded back to us. She said we may return immediately.”

“Ah, I see.” Ike smiled warmly. “That’s good to hear.”

Tibarn walked back and swung an arm around Naesala, seeming to catch the Raven King by surprise. He held him halfway between a hug and a headlock, and Naesala frowned with what little dignity he could muster. “Sometimes birds change their feathers,” Tibarn observed happily. “The hawks, the herons, and even the ravens—we’re thinking we’ll all settle down together.”

“I no longer speak for my people,” Naesala said in a voice that suggested this was not the first time he’d tried to make this point. “You will have to earn their respect if you want to be their King.”

“Oh, I will,” Tibarn promised, releasing the (apparently former) Raven King.

“All this time,” Reyson added thoughtfully, “we’ve sorted ourselves by our ways of thinking and seeing and living. If we can respect each other’s opinions and learn to compromise, we can learn to live together without strife.”

“I don’t think it will be that easy,” Ike replied, but he was still smiling as if he agreed with Reyson’s every word, “but it still ought to be simpler than getting beorc and laguz to treat each other decently. You set a good example, Reyson, Tibarn.”

In response, the hawk and heron shared a long, conspiratorial glance. Meanwhile, Leanne twittered something in the ancient language and swung onto Naesala’s arm.

Ike laughed even though Soren doubted Volug’s language lessons had progressed so far that he could understand her. “You and Naesala too, Leanne!” he added.

In response, she smiled and lifted herself on tiptoe to peck him on the cheek. Naesala blushed but looked happy.

“Yes.” Tibarn rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Of Lorazieh’s three surviving children, one fell for a beorc politician, one a raven rascal, and the last a dashing hawk—I wonder if that’s why the old man hardly gets out of bed. The ghosts of his ancestors must be pecking at him like angry hens!”

“Well, he will learn to accept it.” Reyson didn’t become angry like the last time Tibarn had insulted his ailing father.

“So you’ll bring him back from Gallia?” Ike asked.

“Rafiel and Nailah will bring him to Serenes before returning to Hatari,” Reyson explained. “We are hoping the forest’s magic will finally make him well again.”

“Yes, all the major issues look like they’ll be handled soon!” Tibarn clapped his hands together. “Serenes’ old capital is going to be our new capital. I’m going to be King. Naesala’s going to be our ambassador to Begnion—Sanaki offered us a _nice_ trade deal, by the way. We’ll bring ol’ Lorazieh back from Gallia and get him healed up with some forest magic, and we’ll be one big happy family.” Now he wrapped all three of them—Reyson, Naesala, and Leanne—in a single crushing hug. Ike and the mercenaries laughed. When Tibarn released them, he was chuckling too. “The only thing we _can’t_ agree on is hunting and eating meat.”

“The forest creatures are off-limits!” Reyson raised a warning finger. “Needless displays of violence as well. You know we will not budge on that.”

Leanne threw her fists to her hips and nodded in agreement. “*You know the rules, Tibarn. You too, Naesala,*” she scolded them both in the ancient language.

“Tell me…” Tibarn drew a hand over his face. “Have you ever heard of a vegetarian hawk? Or a raptor that doesn’t scream victoriously to the skies after a kill?”

In answer, Reyson simply crossed his arms.

“Meat, huh?” Ike said with a thoughtful smile, “That’s a thorny problem…”

“As long as that is our thorniest problem,” Naesala offered in a soft voice, “I am sure we will be fine.” He extended his hand, and Ike shook it.

Ike then shook Reyson’s hand, accepted a squeezing embrace from Leanne, and surrendered to a vigorous hug from Tibarn.

“Take care of yourself!” The Hawk King waved while walking backward. Soon all four were gone, and the parlor seemed much emptier.

“I do hope we see them again,” Titania sighed.

“Of course we will!” Mist chirruped. “They’re not going far away.”

“I do hope everyone in Phoenicis and Kilvas is alright,” Rhys offered.

“You mean not shattered?” Gatrie asked glumly.

“Wait, didn’t you hear?” Mia suddenly leapt up. “There’ve been no reports of cracked or shattered people anywhere in the city! Sigrun was saying this morning that she thinks Yune must have restored everybody when she unfroze them.”

“Really?” Rolf gasped in awe. “That’s amazing!”

“That’s one powerful little bird,” Titania laughed. “We all owe her so much.”

While the others jabbered away, Soren glanced at Ike, and although he was smiling, his expression was stiff and his left eye was twitching. Instinct told Soren this was a bad sign, and he seized Ike’s arm. “Let’s get some air.”

He gave a quiver of a nod, and the pair ducked out while everyone was distracted. Ike started to breathe heavily as soon as they were in the corridor, and Soren used his Branded sense to take them to the nearest courtyard without passing any servants or soldiers. By the time they were outside, Ike was hyperventilating.

“Just breathe,” Soren said, trying to make his voice calming. But he was no Mist. He wondered if he should have grabbed her attention and brought her. She was far better at dealing with sick and distressed people, and Soren was starting to think Ike was both.

Slowly, he got his breathing under his control, and they walked around the neglected winter garden. “I’m better now.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Ike answered with a small shake of his head. “I was happy, I really was. But then my smile started to hurt…”

Soren considered this. “You don’t have to force yourself to be better,” he finally decided. “Just take it one moment at a time. If you are happy, let yourself be happy. If you are not, then let yourself feel that too. If you need to step out, then leave. I will cover for you or come with you. Whatever you need.”

Ike stared at him. “You’re being awfully nice,” he noted suspiciously.

“I won’t tease you about this,” he replied. “I want to help you manage whatever is going on.”

Ike sat down on one of the courtyard’s stone benches. “How can I continue being commander like this?” he sighed, raising a hand to his head.

Soren was about to point out that not even a day had passed since defeating Ashera and that he was being unfair to himself, but then a different thought occurred to him: “Ike, do you still want to be our commander?”

“What are you talking about? Of course I do.”

Ike’s voice lacked conviction, and Soren knew he was onto something. He sat beside him. “Ike…” he began again, “Let’s go on a trip.”

“What?” He lifted his head. “Where?”

“Somewhere far away,” Soren answered, glancing at the patches of blue between the clouds, “like you said that night before we entered the Tower of Guidance. At the time, you said you couldn’t get the idea out of your head... Is it still floating around in there?” Now he turned to look at him.

Ike blinked slowly. “…It is.”

“You don’t have to decide right now.” Soren got to his feet. “But if you wanted to go…I’d go with you.” 

“Thanks, Soren.” He also stood up.

“Let’s go back inside,” he proposed, and Ike nodded. 

Not long after rejoining the others, Soren, Ike, and the mercenaries made their way to Temple Mainal’s grand entrance to send off Caineghis, Giffca, and Skrimir, who were departing for Gallia ahead of their vassals. Sanaki had loaned them a large pegasus-drawn carriage to make the best time.

“Ah, Ike!” Caineghis squeezed his shoulders between his massive hands. “Your work has been superb.”

“Hey, you aren’t quite over the hill yet yourself,” Ike joked in reply. “Titania told me you fought with the strength of ten lions.”

“Titania, you exaggerate.”

“Never, your Majesty,” she assured.

“You know,” Ike said, seeming to assess Caineghis from head to toe, “I always wanted to go one-on-one with you, just once.”

“Hah!” Caineghis gave him a hard pat on the back. “I would have expected you had your fill of fighting.”

“Oh you could say that again,” Ike agreed, pushing the hair off his forehead. “I’ve had enough kill-or-be-killed to last a lifetime.”

Caineghis narrowed his eyes at him, and Soren wondered if the Beast King had heard rumors of his recent behavior.

“But something simpler,” Ike finally proposed, “some way of testing our respective strengths.”

“You mean controlled matches,” Caineghis translated thoughtfully, “with all the little rules they have.” He stroked his beard. “In a peaceful world, we need such things. Challenges. Games. An outlet.”

“That’s the truth,” Ike agreed emphatically.

“Skrimir—” Caineghis turned to him “—that will be something for you to arrange when you become King. You have always enjoyed competitions that test your strength.”

“And wit!” he agreed.

“You would need to have wit for that, Skrimir,” Soren pointed out dryly. To his annoyance, this only earned him a massive hug from the lion.

“Oh, I will miss you, tiny beorc!” he growled, lifting him off his feet.

When he was once again on solid ground, Soren raised a hand to ward off any further affection from the prince. “Thanks, Skrimir,” he said, “But do not call me ‘tiny beorc’ ever again.”

Skrimir seemed chastised. “Of course, beorc come in all shapes and sizes. Is it rude to point that out?”

“Yes, it is,” he replied sternly, “and it’s inaccurate; I’m not even beor-” Soren nearly bit his tongue when he realized what he was saying—and in front of all the mercenaries. He winced and wondered why the words had come so easily.

Skrimir’s eyes widened, and his mouth made a little ‘o’ shape. He dropped one fist into the opposite palm, as if having just discovered something, and then pointed at Soren. “You’re like Micaiah!”

Soren grimaced. “If that is how you must think of me,” he granted, “yes, I am like Micaiah.”

Skrimir grinned and turned to his uncle. “My King, did you know this?”

Caineghis eyed Soren approvingly. “I had my suspicions.”

Soren felt Ike’s arm slide behind his neck and over his shoulder and was grateful for the comfort. There was no going back now. His secret was gone. From this moment forth, he would be living his life as a Branded.

“If I can interrupt for a moment—” Ike seized the reins of the conversation and saved him from having to respond “—Caineghis, did you say ‘when Skrimir becomes king’?”

Skrimir held his fist across his chest, and Caineghis nodded. “Yes. We discussed it this morning, and I believe it is time for me to step down. Once order has been restored in Gallia, I will coronate Skrimir and transfer all power to him. We need some young blood leading us in this new era.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do splendidly!” Titania congratulated.

“‘King’ Skrimir?” Ike said as if testing the sound of it. “I suppose that could work.”

“I will do my best!” the prince’s face was positively glowing with pride.

Giffca stepped forward and shielded his mouth with the back of his hand as if to prevent Skrimir and Caineghis hearing him. “We are letting Skrimir believe he earned the position, but the truth is, I just finally convinced this old cat to retire.” His eyes slid coyly in Caineghis’s direction.

“Uncle Giffca!” Skrimir complained, having obviously heard him.

Giffca chuckled and lowered his hand.

“He is only joking, Skrimir,” Caineghis promised in a laugh of his own. With that, the king raised his hand in a final farewell. “Our carriage is waiting,” he said, “I hope we will all see each other soon, but Gallia awaits.”

Ike and the others raised their own hands, and even Soren offered a wave. Caineghis, Giffca, and Skrimir descended the steps to where the pegasi were assembled. The king and his consort walked arm-in-arm.

When they were far enough away, Ike asked hesitantly: “King Caineghis and General Giffca, are they…”

“They’re married,” Titania supplied, apparently baffled that Ike was unaware. “You didn’t know?”

Apparently he had not. Ike dropped Soren’s shoulders and rounded on her in surprise. “No, I didn’t know! That’s legal in Gallia?”

“In Gallia and in Marado,” Titania answered primly. “Although, unions like theirs are still not well thought of in either place.” She continued more sadly. “To many, Lord Giffca is only the king’s bodyguard and top advisor.”

Ike turned back to where the pegasi were now being escorted into the sky by young Holy Guard cadets. “I had no idea…”

“Wait, so is everyone around here gay?” Shinon moaned suddenly (apparently also having not known). “I’ve had too much of this. I’m going in for lunch, and maybe a stiff drink.”

“Oh, come on, buddy; have a heart,” Gatrie laughed, skipping up beside his friend, who was heading back into Temple Mainal. “It’s a new era, just like King Gallia said—no Goddess, no rules!”

“Well, at least it means more girls for the rest of us,” Shinon proposed glumly.

“That’s the spirit!” Gatrie cheered, and their conversation was swallowed by the gilded doors.

Soren felt his cheeks redden, and he wondered why he was suddenly so affected by everything, when for his entire life he’d been able to remain impassive in the face of anything. Ike seemed equally uncomfortable, and that made Soren feel better. At least they were in the spotlight together, and the young commander had always handled attention well.

“He’s talking about me, right?” Ike murmured to Titania.

She offered a pinched, sympathetic smile. “It doesn’t matter what Shinon thinks.”

Ike shrugged as if to say he didn’t care, but Soren wondered if he did. Personally, he’d withstood the criticism of the likes of Shinon since he was a kid. But Ike had always had a way of garnering people’s approval without trying. Soren wondered if he knew how to handle disapproval.

He didn’t have to wonder long, however, because shortly after shrugging, Ike shook his head and smiled. Throwing an arm around Soren’s shoulders and taking him by surprise, he announced: “Well, he’ll learn to accept it. I mean, I’m not any different than I’ve always been. Shinon’s just not my type.”

Boyd and Rolf released mirrored snorts of laughter, and Titania’s smile was genuine now. “So that would make your type…” Boyd began, and Soren could feel his eyes.

His neck and ears grew hot, but he refused to shrug off Ike’s arm.

Fortunately Ike changed the subject without rising to Boyd’s bait. Glancing over his shoulder, he addressed those who followed him. “Look, I’m not perfect. I guess I thought being honest with myself would somehow make me a less effective commander.” Facing forward again, he chuckled. “Turns out that was stupid.”

“You have always been a bit dense,” Soren grumbled through the smile pulling at his lips. This drew another laugh, and Soren’s embarrassment instantly faded. He truly didn’t mind the attention as long as Ike was at his side.

Titania was already holding the door open, so he, Ike, and the others filed inside.

The midday meal passed without incident. Ike remained cheerful and social, and although Soren kept an eye on him, he didn’t have to pull Ike to safety again. During this time, the topic of his parentage eventually resurfaced.

“So, Soren,” Mist asked tentatively. “What you said to Skrimir earlier—is that true?”

“Yes,” he hissed. Just because he wasn’t lying anymore didn’t mean he was going to open himself to interrogation. His personal life was still private, after all.

Rolf didn’t heed the warning in his voice, however, and called out appreciatively: “Wait, so you’re part laguz like Micaiah? That’s amazing! Can you do any of the cool stuff she can? Like, could you heal somebody if you wanted to, or-”

Soren gave Rolf his best hostile glare, but it was Oscar who stopped him. He wrapped a hand around his brother’s head, covering his mouth. “Be quiet, Rolf; he’s going to kill you.” But the warning in his voice was lighthearted, and he was smiling through his apologetic grimace.

Oscar then released his brother, and Rolf covered his own mouth. “Uh, sorry,” he mumbled.

But Soren’s umbrage faded quickly. Ike was sitting beside him, and just now, he’d edged his knee closer so their legs were touching. It was an overwhelming signal of comfort, and suddenly Rolf’s prying (and any eavesdropping ears) seemed less disastrous. “No, I do not have Micaiah’s talents,” he finally answered, keeping his tone guarded, “and I would prefer not to speak on the subject further.”

“That’s fair,” Mist replied, perhaps feeling guilty for bringing it up.

After lunch, the Greil Mercenaries met with Nailah, Rafiel, and Volug, who would be leaving shortly. “Will you be going back to Hatari?” Ike asked them.

“We are escorting Rafiel to Gallia first,” Nailah answered. “The herons believe they can heal their father in the Serenes, so we’ll be responsible for getting him there. Once that’s done, yes, Volug and I will return home.”

“And I will be going with them,” Rafiel added softly. “I’ve come to miss the eastern people and their ways.”

“I see,” Ike acknowledged sympathetically. “So you won’t be moving to Serenes with the others…”

Rafiel bowed his head. “I hope to visit, but no, I shan’t make it my home.”

“Visiting may be difficult,” Titania sighed, also sympathetically. “How are you even planning to get back?” This she addressed to Nailah. “I thought Death Desert was impassable.”

But it was Rafiel who answered: “Yune’s voice guided me on a safe path. I believe I can remember it. I have worked with Micaiah to draw a map as well. One day, there may even be free migration between Tellius and Hatari.”

“I certainly hope to bring some of my people here,” Nailah added. “I know many who would marvel at the grand forests and mountains of Tellius. Our beorc, too, would be eager to witness your wealth of resources and ingenuity.”

“Did you just say ‘your beorc’?” Titania asked in confusion.

Now it was Nailah who looked confused. “Yes… Hatari is the home of the wolf laguz and a tribe of beorc. Was that never conveyed?”

“Not to me,” Titania laughed, “But I’m glad to hear it! Ike?”

He shook his head. “This is the first I’m hearing of it too.”

“Me too,” Soren added.

Nailah and Rafiel exchanged a glance. “Well, I know I told Micaiah about it. In Hatari, the boundaries between laguz and beorc are not as rigid as they are here.”

“Do you have Branded there as well?” Ike asked suddenly.

“Yes, of course,” Nailah answered. “They are the *give-receive*. In your tongue, an approximation may be ‘the Gifted’. They are still few, but they live normal lives. Indeed, it was a shock to learn from Micaiah that things are so different here.”

“That’s incredible…” Ike beamed, glancing down at Soren, who wished he could wipe the smile off his face; it was embarrassing. “Well,” he finally reclaimed himself, “I hope someday Tellius can become more like Hatari, where everyone can live together in peace.”

“I as well.” Rafiel bowed his head.

“*You are already making great strides*,” Volug replied in the ancient language, but by Ike’s uncertain expression, it was clear he didn’t understand.

“It will be a great boon to our country as well,” Nailah continued, “For generations, our beorc have yearned to voyage east. Perhaps now that will be possible. We long thought that ours was the only land spared the Great Flood, but there have always been those who weren’t content with that assumption. Now I wonder myself what may lie beyond the shifting sands and churning seas.”

“East…” Ike repeated, and there was a childish, faraway look in his eye. “I wonder.”

Nailah smiled knowingly and then raised her hand in farewell. “Greil Mercenaries,” she announced, “You would all be welcome in Hatari. It has been an honor fighting beside such loyal and capable warriors. I will not forget a single one of your names.”

“Farewell,” Rafiel wished them.

“*Safe journeys and passages always*,” Volug said politely with a low bow.

Ike and the rest of the mercenaries waved them off. Then both Nailah and Volug transformed, and Rafiel mounted Nailah’s back. Soon they were loping away. Unlike Caineghis and the others, they’d elected to return to Gallia on foot. They wanted to pass through Begnion, Serenes, and Goldoa on their journey. Soren understood their choice; if they were indeed returning to Hatari after this, they probably wanted to see as much of Tellius as they could.

The Greil Mercenaries filed back into Temple Mainal, but they hadn’t made it far before Sanaki intercepted them with Tanith on her heels. “Soren,” she said, taking him by surprise. “There is someone here who wishes to speak with you. I have called a meeting in the senatorial chamber. Come with me.”

Soren glanced at Ike in confusion.

“Um, should the rest of us come?” he asked.

“Only your tactician’s attendance is requested.” Despite Sanaki’s business-like attitude, Soren could tell she was exhausted. Perhaps that was why she was acting so pert.

“Very well, I’ll come,” Soren gave in. Turning to Ike, he said: “Whatever it is, I will fill you in later.”

He nodded, and Soren was suddenly loath to leave him. He was not yet certain Ike wouldn’t break down again, and if it happened, he wanted to be there. Before he left, he made eye contact with Mist and tried to surreptitiously gesture at Ike with his gaze. Mist gave the slightest tremor of a nod, and he hoped that meant she would look after him.


	32. CHAPTER 98: FAMILY

Soren followed Sanaki and Tanith to the room where the senate used to convene. The only person he could think of wanting to meet him was Almedha, but he didn’t understand why the dowager queen would enlist Sanaki’s help, especially when the empress was so busy with her own problems. He also didn’t understand why they had to meet in such a large audience chamber when a small parlor would have sufficed.

All became clear, however, when they arrived at the chamber doors, beyond which, he felt the presence of Branded: a lot of Branded. Tanith heaved the door open, and Soren followed Sanaki inside. Seated in the spectators’ and lobbyists’ seats were dozens upon dozens of unfamiliar Branded, and at a table in the center of the hall sat Stefan, Micaiah, and—Soren could hardly believe—Koure. Her face split into a grin, and she rushed to hug him before he’d even reached the table. Meanwhile, Sanaki sat down at the table’s head.

“Soren!” Koure cried, “I’m so glad to see you’re okay! Of course, they told me you were, but it’s still good to _see_ it.”

“Koure, what are you doing here?”

“Sit, and we will re-explain everything,” Sanaki answered, drumming her fingers against the tabletop.

Koure returned to her chair, and Soren took one of the empty ones. It felt strange to have the eyes of so many Branded watching him.

“It’s come to my attention that there has been a secret colony of dual-race citizens and refugees living in Begnion,” Sanaki began. “They were spared Ashera’s judgement and came here.” She gestured around the room. “They arrived not long ago.”

Soren looked around again. The Branded seemed to number between one hundred fifty and two hundred. “Why?”

Koure explained: “I was in Daein when it happened. I wandered around, thinking I was the only one who didn’t turn to stone. Then I met Lorne.” She waved to someone in the crowd. “We realized what we had in common and wondered if other Branded had survived, so we started moving south toward the desert. One day, we came into a town where the snow and mud was covered in human footprints and the livestock had been set free. We knew a group of people had come through, so we followed the trail… Until we lost it again.” She smiled sheepishly.

“They were following us, the Silver Army,” Micaiah clarified.

Soren nodded.

Koure continued: “Anyway, we decided to keep going to the desert, and when we finally arrived, we found all the Branded had come together in Zunanma, even though everyone else in the city had turned to stone. They told us a small group of laguz and beorc had passed through a few days before.”

“At the time, only I elected to approach and join the Silver Army,” Stefan added, “But this young woman changed the others’ minds.”

“How?” Soren asked Koure in disbelief. 

“Oh, it wasn’t me.” She waved her hands modestly. “We all had the same dream that night. A bird told us she was sorry she hadn’t seen us before, and she asked us to ‘come into the light’. None of us knew what that meant, but we all had a sense of where we needed to go: Sienne.” She tossed her shoulders. “And here we are!” 

“She sells herself short.” Stefan folded his arms. “The way I understand it, Koure here was instrumental in getting everyone to actually follow Yune’s order.”

“Yune…” Koure repeated with a shake of her head. “So it really was a goddess?”

“Yes.” Sanaki drew her hands together and turned to Soren. “There you have it. It is now my intention to resettle these people as soon as possible and find them gainful employment and opportunity in the lands of Begnion. Of course, their rights will be guaranteed, and those who have sought refuge from persecution in other nations will be bestowed full Begnion citizenship.”

When the ensuing murmurs died down, Micaiah turned to the crowd and added: “And I will speak to King Pelleas about extending the same opportunities in Daein, should you wish to return or resettle there!” This was followed by more murmuring, but it was briefer.

“That being said…” Sanaki began again. “Sir Stefan and Lady Koure are acting as spokespeople for the Grann Colonists, and they both asked that I bring you into the discussion.” She gestured to Stefen as if he should take the floor.

He gave Soren an easy smile. “Before you entered the Tower of Guidance, you mentioned a secret city. I said we could discuss it further if we both survived… Here we are.” He raised both his palms. “I would like to hear your idea in more detail.”

Soren became flustered, realizing Stefan wanted him to present some sort of plan for the Branded’s resettlement here and now, in front of everyone, when he had hardly given the idea a second thought since it first popped into his head that day.

However, by now Soren was quite adept at thinking on the spot and presenting sound strategies even if they were only half-formed. He controlled his voice and spread his palms on the table. “I propose an excavation of the Kauku Caves in the Erzt Mountains,” he began. “Although ancient volcanic eruptions have made the entrances hazardous, a well-trained, well-supplied, and well-funded archaeological crew should be able to reopen paths to the city. I believe it may be made habitable—and profitable—within a decade at most. Such a project would require the permissions and support of Begnion, Goldoa, and Gallia, but I can think of no better people to head the project and take advantage of the valuable location than the homeless Branded.” When his voice collapsed into silence, he hardly believed the speech that had come out of his mouth.

No one responded for a while, and Soren hoped that meant they were honestly contemplating the proposal instead of counting all the reasons it was a bad idea.

“There’s a city in the Erzt Mountains?” Koure asked in disbelief. “You really have to fill me in on your adventures, Soren!”

“I will,” he promised. He wanted to know what she’d been up to these past two years as well.

“It is an interesting proposition,” Sanaki finally said, “and I would be willing to fund a team to investigate its viability. As of now, my understanding of the Kauku city is founded solely on rumor I’ve heard from King Tibarn, Prince Skrimir, and the Greil Mercenaries.”

“That is understandable,” Soren agreed.

“Would you be willing to head up such a project if I were to proceed?”

“No.” Soren’s answer was immediate and definite.

“Of course, you are still committed to the mercenaries,” Sanaki sighed with a wave of her hand.

“No… that’s not it.” In truth, he wanted Ike to be his sole commitment right now. “I would be willing to help, but I cannot lead this expedition.”

“I would be willing to lead, Empress Sanaki,” Stefan volunteered, raising his hand. “In fact, it would be an honor. But I have one condition.”

“What would that be?”

“Kauku must be allowed to become its own sovereign nation. That is what the Branded of the Grann have desired for over a hundred years. We wish to develop our own way of life, and being spared unjust persecution is only part of that. We wish to be self-governed.”

Murmuring turned into clapping and cheering.

Sanaki nodded. “Very well. Begnion will stake no claim to the mountains.”

“Nor will Daein,” Micaiah added with a warm smile.

“We will work together to acquire the appropriate permissions from the other nations.” Sanaki held out her hand, and Stefan shook it across the table. “I look forward to working with you.”

The discussion continued a short while longer, in which Stefan asked for a vote from his people to support his proposal. (They did.) Soren promised to provide a detailed report based on his memory of the caves, and Sanaki and Micaiah discussed temporary resettlement plans for the meantime. Only then was the assembly dismissed. Micaiah returned to her own people (who were preparing to leave for Daein by this evening), and Sanaki passed the horde of Branded onto her servants, who had been preparing them rooms. When this was done, Tanith entered the chamber, and the Holy Guard’s arms were already full of missives and paperwork requiring Sanaki’s attention.

Soren lingered at the table until everyone was gone, and Koure lingered too. “You missed the fight,” he said awkardly

“We didn’t come to fight.”

“I thought that was why Yune was recruiting people.”

“All she told us was to come into the light.”

Soren sighed. “She was a confusing goddess.”

“I can’t believe you got to meet her!” Koure leaned across the table and rested her cheek on her fist. “What was it like? Tell me everything!”

“It is a long story.”

“Well, I still want to hear it.”

Soren decided to start at the beginning: “Eight-hundred and twenty-eight years ago, the world was drowned because the Goddess of Dawn split in two and the Goddess of Chaos couldn’t control her own power…” He told her about the legendary heroes and Lehran. He told her about the line of apostles and the Branded. He told her about the Serenes Massacre and Misaha’s assassination. He told her about the medallion and the wars that fueled its flames. Koure was a quiet, attentive listener. “…I was in Daein, serving in the Apostle’s Army, when Ashera cast her judgement,” he explained when he reached the present. “After Yune was freed, we marched south to fight Ashera, and we won. Yune used the last of her power to save everyone… I don’t know if any part of her or Ashera still survives. But that is the end of the story.”

Koure gave one slow nod and closed her eyes. “Yune’s medallion was the reason Lillia—my mother—was imprisoned at Palmeni Temple, wasn’t it?” She opened her eyes again, and her expression was sad but calm.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “I assume you’ve been there?”

She nodded again. “I went there as fast as I could when the war was over. First Begnion’s and then Daein’s historians had already cleared out and catalogued everything at the temple, and no one was allowed in the basement who wasn’t a priest or a scholar. But I petitioned to see their research materials, and I read everything they translated from the walls… It was the only way I could become closer to her.”

Soren knew what horrors had been inscribed on those walls, and so he knew this course of study couldn’t have been as easy on her as she was making it seem. “…There is another way to know her,” he proposed. “Reyson, Leanne, and Rafiel are no longer here, but they are all returning to the Serenes Forest shortly. You could learn about Lillia—and your heritage—from them. I could introduce you, if you wish.”

Koure looked at him as if suddenly confused. “You’ve changed, Soren.”

“I have,” he agreed. “I’m not hiding anymore, and I am…content. At least for now, I feel like I have a new start.”

“I feel the same way…” she thought aloud. “That decides it: I will go to Serenes!”

“Do you need me to-”

“I’ll be fine,” she cut him off. “I want to introduce myself. They can make of me what they will.”

“I am sure they will welcome you,” Soren offered. “Acceptance seems to be their new philosophy, and when they left this morning, they were obviously quite proud of their diverse little family.”

“A family,” Koure repeated with a laugh in her voice. “You know, I learned a bit of the ancient language during my research. I wonder if they could teach me more… I heard some heron scrolls and artifacts were stolen before they could be burned. If we could track them down together, maybe they would let me study them.”

“Maybe,” Soren agreed. 

“Do you still not want to find your parents?” Koure asked conversationally.

Soren knew the question wasn’t meant as a barb, but he couldn’t help but feel pressured by the it. “I never said I didn’t want to find them,” he answered quietly, wondering how he could possibly tell her he shared Ashnard’s blood.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” She shook her head. “I just think it would be worth looking… I feel better now that I know, even if the story isn’t a happy one.”

“The truth is,” Soren admitted, “I don’t need to look anymore. She’s here—my mother, but we haven’t spoken yet.”

Koure was clearly shocked, but she was also elated. “That’s amazing, Soren! But why in Tellius haven’t you talked to her? You should go to her right now!”

He shook his head. “I will, but I…” He couldn’t think of a good reason why he hadn’t. “I need to plan what I will say to her.”

Koure stood abruptly. “You don’t have to plan! Just say whatever’s on your mind.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is!” she shot back. “I would give anything for a chance to actually meet my mother. You can’t waste it.”

“I know,” Soren conceded. “I will be sure to speak with her before she leaves.”

“Where is she going?” Koure sat down again. “Who is she?”

Soren answered carefully: “I don’t know if she will return to Daein or Goldoa. Her name is Almedha, and she is a dragon, or at least, she was before she had me. She is not entirely laguz anymore.” He decided not to mention that she was a princess of Goldoa, and he would avoid mentioning Ashnard if he could help it.

“Yeah, I heard that happens,” Koure murmured sympathetically. “That must be hard for her… And she’s lived in Daein all this time?”

Soren nodded, not wanting to give further details.

“Well, once you know her a little better, I’d love to meet her.”

“Perhaps,” Soren replied noncommittally. Right now, he didn’t think he actually wanted that.

“Now, you should go talk to her.” Koure got up from her chair, and this time she pushed it in behind her. “I should be getting back to Lorne and the other Branded anyway,” she said, stifling a yawn.

“Of course, you must be tired.”

“Can we talk again soon?” she asked hopefully. “ _After_ you talk to your mother.”

“Yes,” Soren replied readily, “I would like to introduce you to my friends later.” He said the words without thinking, and although they startled him, he was glad to find they were true. Almedha was a new part of his life he didn’t know how he felt about yet, but the Greil Mercenaries were old and familiar and he finally felt ready to share them.

Despite Koure’s prodding, Soren didn’t seek Almedha upon leaving the senate chamber. Instead, he tracked down the mercenaries. When he found them, they were in the suite of rooms belonging to Elincia and her vassals. The queen was wearing a traveling gown and had a packed bag swung over her shoulder. Renning, Geoffrey, Lucia, Bastian, Calill, and Amy were here as well—and all prepared for an imminent departure.

Soren arrived just as the farewells were concluding. “Well, your Majesty, shall we be off?” Geoffrey asked, lending Elincia his arm.

“Yes, let us,” she agreed, taking his arm and smiling tenderly.

Soren instinctively glanced at Ike, prepared to find jealousy there. But there was none. He supposed he should accept the fact that he’d been wrong to imagine Ike’s admiration for the young monarch—and the inspiration he’d drawn from her during the Mad King’s War—had ever been anything more romantic. It seemed foolish now to have been jealous for so long.

“To Crimea,” Elincia continued, resting a hand on Geoffrey’s. “To our homeland.”

Renning led the way, giving the Greil Mercenaries another firm nod in farewell. Bastian followed after, waving dramatically and even bowing with a flourish once he was in the corridor. “Fare thee well, O’ Mercenaries of Greil!”

Then came Calill, who said as she passed: “Remember, you can stop by the bar any time! Don’t be strangers!”

Amy was walking beside her, holding her hand, but she waved, saying, “Bye-bye m‘saries!”

The mercenaries all waved in reply, and even Soren raised his hand to the little girl. He truly hoped she would have a good life, and he truly believed Calill and Largo were capable of giving her one.

Elincia and Geoffrey exited next, with Lucia pulling up the rear. “I expect to see you the next time you’re in Melior,” Elincia said by way of parting. “There will be no hiding from me this time!”

Titania chuckled in embarrassment, and Ike and Mist both laughed good-humoredly. A moment later, the Crimeans were gone, and the Greil Mercenaries were left standing in the overturned room. Ike led them out, and they moved to a balcony where they could see the pegasus-drawn carriages take off.

“I hope Sanaki can figure out the senators’ Rewarp staves soon.” Mist sighed, folded her arms over the railing, and rested her head. “Then it will be so much easier to travel between the nations. Everyone can work together, and we’ll be able to visit our friends all the time.”

“It is a marvelous invention, if used for the right purposes,” Titania agreed. “I am sure her scholars will unlock the staves’ secrets.”

“…Magic like that sure makes the world smaller,” Ike agreed, but his voice wasn’t filled with pleasant wonder like the other two.

Before long, the pegasi got a running start and took off with the carriages swaying below. The queen was once again returning to Crimea. “Long may she reign…” Titania murmured under her breath like a prayer.

While the mercenaries meandered back to the parlor near their rooms, Soren fell in step beside Ike and asked covertly: “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” he answered, “Just tired.” He rubbed his eyes without stopping, but he did slow down and they fell to the back of the group. “Anyway, what did Sanaki want?”

“There was a caucus of Branded,” Soren answered honestly. “Yune led them here. Sanaki and Micaiah intend to resettle them. I suggested a recolonization of the Kauku Caves, and Stefan leapt at the idea. Now there is to be an independent Branded state. I suppose it was quite a productive meeting. I even met an old friend.”

Ike stopped and stared at him in confusion. “Uh, there’s a lot to unpack there. Can you start over?”

Soren also stopped, and the mercenaries pulled ahead. “There was a colony of Branded hermits living in the Grann Desert. I apologize for never telling you. Stefan is one of them. He tried to recruit me during the Mad King’s War.”

“Well…that’s a surprise.” Ike shook his head in disbelief.

“All Branded were accidentally spared Ashera’s initial judgement, and Yune told the members of the colony in a dream to come to Sienne. They arrived today.”

“Okay, _that_ I believe.”

Soren smiled but continued his story: “Sanaki and Micaiah were planning to provide homes, work, and equal rights for the Branded, but Stefan wants more for his people: a place of their own and the ability to self-govern. I recommended an excavation and colonization of the city within the Kauku Caves.” Soren lifted both his hands. “That is all.”

Ike made a face as if impressed. “Already negotiating the birth of a nation, are you? Maybe you _would_ make a good king.”

Soren frowned. “That is never going to happen.”

Ike chuckled and started walking with his fingers knitted behind his head. “So what about this ‘friend’ you mentioned? I thought I knew all your friends.”

Soren resumed walking too. “Her name is Koure. We met as children, at the temple where I lived after leaving you, Greil, and Mist. Our paths have crossed on several occasions since then. She too, in Branded. In fact, she is the daughter of the heron Lillia.”

“What?” Ike stopped again and dropped his arms. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of her?”

Soren tried to seem appropriately apologetic. “Friendship is a vulnerability,” he tried to explain. “It was easier to keep my past and my present entirely separate.”

“Vulnerability, huh?” Ike frowned and peered closely at him. “…Should I be jealous?”

Soren blinked in surprise. “No, of course not.”

“Good.” Ike smiled playfully. “In that case, can I meet her?”

“Of course,” he said again, “but not right now.” He glanced down that hall where the mercenaries had disappeared. “You should catch up to the others. There’s something I need to do.”

Ike’s expression grew curious. “Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“I need to talk to Almedha.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “You’re doing it now?”

Soren gave a small nod. “Before I lose my nerve.”

Ike reached out and laid a hand on either of his shoulders. “You’ll be fine. Good luck.”

Soren swallowed, but he didn’t trust his voice. Now that he’d made the decision aloud, his heart was starting to beat faster. Nervousness clawed at his resolve.

But then Ike bent forward and gently kissed the top of his head. Soren’s entire body froze in surprise, but he did feel better. “I mean it,” he repeated softly, “You’ll be fine.” Then he released him and continued down the hall. Soren doubled back the way he’d come; he already knew the way to the dragons’ quarters.

When he arrived in the corridor where they were staying, he found himself hoping Almedha wouldn’t be in her room. But he wasn’t that lucky. Although her presence was subtle and she didn’t feel like a beorc, laguz, or Branded, now that Soren knew it, he could detect her even through the closed door.

Neither Kurthnaga nor Ena were in their rooms, but Soren could sense Nasir sleeping in his own. That was another confrontation he wasn’t looking forward to, but he could only handle one at a time. Raising a tentative hand, he knocked. When there was no reply, he knocked again.

This time, he heard the shuffling of sheets and then footsteps on the floor. The door opened, and there stood Almedha with puffy eyes and disheveled hair. She froze when she saw him and inhaled unevenly, as if she’d suddenly forgotten how to breathe. Perhaps ashamed of her appearance, she hastily drew her fingers through her hair and started patting down her wrinkled black dress. “S-Soren,” she stuttered. “How can I help you?”

Staring into her face, he tried to see his own. He didn’t think Kurthnaga had been lying, but it was still difficult to accept. “Lady Almedha,” he began rigidly, trying to put some professional distance between them. “I need to talk to you about the child your bore with King Ashnard.”

She stared at him with profound longing—but also acute pain, which seemed to hold her back like a tether. Her eyes were pinched, and she clasped her hands, as if resisting the urge to grab him. “You know…”

“Prince Kurthnaga conveyed the story in the Tower of Guidance, upon the defeat of your father, King Dheginsea.” Soren hated the lifeless sound of his own voice. This was not the tone he’d meant to strike.

“Come in…” Almedha stepped to the side. Her room was furnished with a large bed she must have just pulled herself out of. Her black veil and cloak had been dropped on the floor, and the shutters were tightly drawn, making the room dark.

Obviously embarrassed, she opened the windows to let in light and a crack of fresh air. Then she threw the clothes onto the bed and cleared her throat, gesturing graciously to a small nook with soft chairs and a low table. She’d been given better quarters than the mercenaries, but Soren wasn’t surprised. She was a queen after all.

He forced himself to sit down in one of the chairs, and Almedha sat directly opposite him. He had nowhere to look but at her hopeful yet frightened eyes—eyes that were the same almond shape and contained the same red irises as his own. She was staring at him, and he didn’t know how long he’d be able to stand it. “Are you really my mother?” he asked outright, and he was relieved his voice didn’t break.

“Yes…” Her voice was a quiver. “I would know you anywhere.”

Soren swallowed. “And Ashnard…he was really my father?”

“Yes,” she said again. “There was no other.” She tilted her head sadly. “You…you have his teeth. His mouth…his smile. Would you smile for me, Soren?”

“No,” he returned flatly, fighting the nervousness rising in his stomach. “Why- How could you love a man like that?”

Almedha glanced at the ceiling as if in remembrance. “When I met your father—” she began, and Soren cringed “—he was an ambitious young beorc prince. He was strong and cunning, he was beholden to no one, and he would stop at nothing.” She smiled fondly. “Eventually I discovered he was the source of the supposed plague afflicting Daein, and so too did I discover his plot to kill the king. I helped him, and on that night, he proposed. We married only a few months later… We both wanted a child. Ashnard to raise an heir even stronger and more dastardly than himself—” she appeared to laugh at some memory “—and me to have something to cherish as dearly as beorc devote themselves to all manner of ephemeral things… A year later, we finally conceived you.” She returned her gaze to him and smiled adoringly. “I could transform no longer, but I lied to Ashnard, saying my condition was temporary. Oh, how he loved you when you were growing inside me…”

Soren squirmed at the thought. He hadn’t meant to push Almedha down a path of romantic nostalgia. These were not the answers he’d come for.

“But everything changed when you were born,” she sighed, and her back hunched slightly. Now she gazed at the table. “I told Ashnard the truth—that I would never be the same, and neither would our child be able to transform as I once did. He had barely taken one look at you when he decided you were worthless. You were a very small thing. Your head seemed too big for your body, and you were so pink and always tired.” Almedha released a strangled chuckle at the same time a tear collected on the inside of her right eye. “Your mark didn’t appear until the third day, but I knew from first holding you that you would be special. I knew you were strong, even if Ashnard couldn’t see it.”

“…If you cared that much about me,” Soren growled, “Why leave me with of that awful woman?”

Almedha glanced up as if surprised. “Was she so awful? I know she lost you, but…”

“She didn’t lose me; she sold me!” Soren countered. “After beating me and starving me for years!” He tried to control his voice and keep it at a lower volume. “She hated me.”

“I’m so sorry…” She did seem genuinely remorseful. “I didn’t know what else to do. I did not know many beorc, and even fewer that would risk my husband’s wrath to help me. The midwife kept to herself, but I knew she had gambling debts. She could be manipulated with money. I knew where her loyalties began and ended.”

Soren hated that he agreed with her logic. “Why did you have to get rid of me at all?”

“You were my special boy,” Almedha replied as if that should have been obvious. “I never wanted Ashnard to take you from me, to use your power for himself.”

Soren shook his head in disappointment. “You were both insane,” he determined. “Trying to understand you is madness.” He stood to leave, finding he’d heard quite enough.

But Almedha lurched forward and seized his arm. “No, please! Don’t leave yet.” Soren wrenched himself out of her grasp. She winced as if injured and held her tightly folded arms against her stomach. “I know what you must think of me…but please, I need to know what happened to you. I need to know you’ve had a happy life.”

“ _I didn’t_ ,” Soren growled back, but he immediately regretted those words. All things considered, his life hadn’t been terrible. His childhood had been difficult, but he wasn’t the only person with a painful past. And because of it, he’d met Ike. He’d won a war and defeated a goddess. He’d travelled all over Tellius and seen amazing things. He’d met many people, some of whom he was proud to call his friends. “I’m sorry,” he managed to say, “that was wrong. My life has, at times, been happy. Galina gave me to a sage who taught me wind magic. I became a mercenary and later a tactician. I am good at what I do.”

Almedha’s wet eyes shone with pride. “What will you do now?” she asked, “Pelleas has confided in me that he wishes to abdicate the Daein throne-”

“No,” Soren cut her off. “I have absolutely no interest in being Ashnard’s heir.”

She frowned at him. “But you are! I am sure you could accomplish so much! You could change the world. Ashnard would have be so-”

“I have already changed the world,” he returned, “Now, I think I’m done.”

Almedha gazed back at him sadly. “But you are still so young! There is still so much Kurth and I could teach you. Dragon magic runs deeper than our transformations. It is an old magic. I know you could learn it. You are your father’s son—you mustn’t let anything stop you from achieving your goals! Laguz and beorc will kneel before you, as they should! I’ll help you; I promise I will.”

Soren wished he could stop her fervent ramblings, but he was so stunned by them that he couldn’t say a word. She was pawing the air as if wishing she could latch onto him again but fighting to hold herself back.

“You’re my son; you’re my special boy. You’re destined for greatness!” Finally she seemed to run out of energy, and she settled for staring plaintively.

Soren blinked and found his voice. “You clearly have an idea who you want your son to be…but that’s not me. I have someone who knows me—really knows me—and loves me anyway. I don’t need you or your help.” With that, he made his way to the door, but Almedha stopped him.

“That Ike boy?” she demanded reproachfully. “He is beorc! You bear the blood of the dragon tribe! He will grow old and die in sixty years at best! _Then_ you will come back to your mother. We will have _centuries_ together. I can wait!” Tears spilled over her cheeks. “I’ll always wait for you to come back to me.”

Soren hated that her words poked a sharp stick right into his deepest fears. But he refused to come crawling back to her—now or ever. So he forced himself toward the door without offering a rebuttal.

As soon as he was in the hall, he felt a strong urge to rush back to Ike for comfort, but while he was here, he decided there was another thorn he needed to rip out. He slammed open Nasir’s door to find him sitting in bed with a book, not sleeping after all. “Soren, how unexpectedly rude of you,” was his greeting. “Please come in.”

Soren was almost disappointed to find his suave tone contained only a shadow of its former vitality. The man seemed lopsided, holding the book with only one arm, and his face looked sallow. There were bags under his eyes, and Soren could see scars on his face and neck where wounds had festered until Siennese healers had been able to treat them. But Soren was still angry and refused to pity him.

“Did you know who my parents were?” Soren demanded. “Did you know the whole time?”

Nasir closed his book and pressed it into the coverlet. “Yes.”

“How?”

“I sensed it about you when first you boarded my ship.”

“You just ‘sensed’ it?” he repeated skeptically.

“I am old, Soren,” Nasir explained. “One of the oldest living dragons now that Dheginsea is gone. Our telesthesic senses improve as we age, and at the risk of sounding braggadocious, mine are quite acute. At times, looking upon you was the same as looking upon your mother when she was young.”

Soren was willing to accept this explanation, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. “Then why didn’t you tell me? What was all of that—a test?”

Nasir raised his eyebrows as if surprised by the suggestion. “Not at all. I merely didn’t want you to know. I believed until recently that Almedha was dead, and I thought it unlikely you would ever discover the truth on your own.”

Soren gritted his teeth. “That doesn’t explain why you- why you thought so little of me.” He hated how petulant he sounded. He didn’t want Nasir’s approval; he didn’t need it. And yet it sounded to his own ears like he was asking for it. 

Nasir raised his chin. “I have said before—I misjudged you. When I did not see your mother in you, I saw Ashnard.”

Soren fought the bile that rose in his throat. “Well, I’m not him.”

“Indeed.” Nasir moved his hand to his bandaged stump. “You didn’t even kill me when you were well within your rights to do so.”

“Ike wouldn’t have wanted that.”

Nasir smiled wanly. “I am sorry, Soren. For everything.”

“It doesn’t matter now…” He swept out of the room before he could be tempted to accept Nasir’s apology.

In the corridor again, he was determined to reach Ike and put all thought of dragons behind him. Unfortunately, he hadn’t made it to the end of the hall before he ran into Kurthnaga.

“Soren!” the king observed in surprise. “If you’re here… Did you speak to her?”

He tried to rein in his emotions, because neither Almedha’s eccentricity nor Nasir’s conceit were Kurthnaga’s fault. “I am not sure it had the effect you wanted,” he managed to reply. “She seemed quite upset.”

Kurthnaga stared down the hall at his sister’s room. “That’s fine. Whatever the case, I know she will be better for it. She needed some closure. Thank you.”

Assuming he would want to comfort her now, Soren made to leave. But he stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “While you’re here, there is something we need to discuss.”

“What would that be?”

“Almedha, Ena, and I are leaving for Goldoa tonight,” Kurthnaga explained, “but I would like you to join us there in the future. Stay for a while—long enough to know the people and for them to accept you.”

“Why in Tellius would I want to do that?”

Kurthnaga’s expression was serious but patient. “The royal family is nearly depleted,” he said. “Until Ena’s child comes of age, there will be no one to replace me if the worst should happen. Goldoa will be left leaderless.”

“Your sister is alive,” Soren pointed out, because he didn’t like where this was going. “And isn’t she older than you, anyway?”

He frowned. “I’ve reinstated Almedha’s birthright as a princess of Goldoa, but she is not fit to rule and she knows it. Father left the future of our homeland in my hands.”

“Then you’d better not die before Ena’s child can take the throne,” Soren returned dryly. “Or better yet, retire the whole monarchy.”

Kurthnaga ignored him. “Soren, listen to me. I do not make this offer lightly… But if you can come to think of Goldoa as a second home, I would welcome you as my heir in the case of an emergency succession.”

Soren scowled. “I am no one’s heir. Not Almedha’s, not Ashnard’s, and certainly not yours.”

“Whether you like it or not,” Kurthnaga replied sternly, suddenly seeming older, “you are part of our family.”

“No, I’m not,” he shot back, wishing he didn’t sound so childish. “I have my own family.” With that, he kept walking down the hall, and he only breathed easier when he’d rounded the corner and couldn’t feel Kurthnaga’s disappointed gaze anymore.


	33. CHAPTER 99: FAREWELL

Instead of returning to Ike’s side, Soren decided he needed to put a decisive end to the possibility of anyone else offering him a position of power today. He wasn’t a prince, and he would never be a king.

“I heard you’re abdicating your throne,” he said when he found Pelleas. He crossed his arms. “Why?”

Despite Soren’s accusing tone, the young man’s eyes lit up as if pleasantly surprised. “Soren, you’re here! This is actually perfect timing. I was hoping to talk with you before we left. Let’s go somewhere more private.”

Soren was more than a little annoyed by this response. “Fine.”

Pelleas led him away from the other Daein soldiers whose names Soren hardly remembered. They all seemed busy telling jokes around the fireplace, and Soren doubted they’d heard his accusation because no one had reacted when he’d made it.

“What you say is correct,” Pelleas began when they were safely in the corridor. “But there are few with whom I’ve shared my intentions. Was it Micaiah or Almedha who told you?”

“Almedha.”

“Then, you really are the one?” Pelleas asked with a touch of excitement.

Soren recalled what Kurthnaga had said about it being Pelleas who’d figured out his parentage in the first place. He supposed he owed him his gratitude, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually feel grateful. “Yes,” he answered, “If by ‘one’ you mean the offspring of that crazy woman and an even crazier king.”

Pelleas winced. “She is not that bad, really… She means well.”

“That is beside the point.” Soren returned to the topic at hand. “I want to know why you are giving up your position in Daein. Now is not exactly a good time for a power vacuum.”

Pelleas shook his head. “And I don’t mean to cause one! I am simply not the right person to lead. It is your birthright, not mine. If you wish it, I will vouch for you in an instant and support your ascension. I have stolen your identity for far too long. I will do what I can to return it.”

Soren had feared this would be the case, and now he felt even greater annoyance at Pelleas than he had Kurthnaga. “I do not want it.”

Pelleas looked confused. “But the Daein people would want their true king on the throne, not an imposter.”

Soren wondered if he was actually this naïve. “There’s no such thing as a ‘true king’,” he growled, “You’re as qualified as anyone. You’ve actually fought _for_ your people. I’ve only ever fought against them.”

Pelleas frowned as if this fact disturbed him. “True…I cannot promise you would be immediately popular. King Ashnard was not particularly beloved in his final year either…”

Soren released a bark of laughter. “Beloved? He abandoned his nation to an invading army!”

“That is true,” Pelleas conceded. He then took a steadying breath. “If you refuse my offer, you should know I still intend to reveal my lack of royal heritage and abdicate. If not you, I would like Micaiah to take my place on the throne. She is already beloved by the people, and I know she will achieve more than I ever could… I hope you will agree with my judgement on this.”

Soren did, so he nodded. “Fine, as long as it’s not me.”

Pelleas seemed relieved. “In that case, may I ask you to formally abdicate your blood claim now and forever in the future? I can have the paperwork drawn up before we leave. I know it may seem tedious—” he raised his palms apologetically and smiled “—but it will help secure Micaiah’s position.”

Soren agreed it was tedious, but he also understood the reason. “Fine,” he said again. “But if it’s a problem of legitimacy, shouldn’t you be more concerned with Micaiah’s lack of royal blood?”

Pelleas chuckled. “Actually, just today Lady Micaiah and Empress Sanaki have come to an understanding: Micaiah is the empress’s elder sister and the true apostle. Lord Sephiran faked her death and stole her memories when she was a child. Hers may be Begnion blood, but it is certainly royal.”

Although Soren had suspected this fact and wasn’t surprised, he wondered how this revelation might change Begnion and Daein’s diplomatic relations. “How did you come to know this?”

“Micaiah, Sanaki, and I signed a treaty this morning, establishing friendship and goodwill between our nations. Micaiah has no wish to be Begnion’s apostle…any more than you have to be Daein’s king, I suppose,” he finished thoughtfully.

“Indeed,” Soren agreed. He was satisfied with this arrangement. “Have the documents ready by the time you leave.”

With that, he departed, finally making his way back to Ike. He felt a little better after dealing with the ramifications of his parentage. People like Ike and Mist lived to honor and emulate their parents, but Soren never would. He wanted to cut ties with Ashnard, and disowning his birthright felt like a step in the right direction.

When he returned to the mercenaries’ parlor, he was surprised to see Koure sitting with Ike, Titania, and Mist. He froze for a moment, while his mind worked to assimilate these two parts of his life. “Ah, Soren, you’re back!” Ike squeezed to the corner a settee to make room. “Come join us.”

“Your commander told me what you were doing,” Koure whispered with a grin. She was sitting in an adjacent armchair, holding a mug of tea, and judging by her expression, having a good time. “How’d it go?”

Ike looked happy too, and Soren’s anxieties were instantly soothed. He sat down and was pleased when Ike stretched his arm across the back of the settee so his fingers brushed his shoulder. “It could have gone better,” he admitted. “But it is done now.”

“I’m sorry...” Ike’s expression was genuinely sympathetic.

Titania and Mist both looked confused, which was a good indication that Ike hadn’t told them what he’d been doing. Titania confirmed this a moment later: “Forgive my intrusion, but did something happen?”

Soren shook his head. Although he didn’t want to hide or lie anymore, he wasn’t eager to tell the others he was related to Ashnard. “I just had to take care of some things. I would rather not discuss it now.”

Koure winced apologetically. “Sorry if I pushed you into it.”

“You didn’t,” he replied firmly and then changed the subject: “So, you have all met…”

Koure laughed. “I came looking for you and found your friends instead.”

Titania chuckled under her breath. “Honestly, it was a surprise to learn that Soren had any other friends. You do like your secrets, don’t you?”

Soren rolled his eyes. “Let’s stop talking about me,” he suggested. “Have we any word about how people outside the city are taking the news of Ashera’s defeat?”

“There are riots,” Titania sighed. “Some temples have been sacked—both by those decrying Ashera and those defending her.”

“It sounds like a mess,” Mist murmured sadly. “The Greil Mercenaries might have work to do yet.”

Soren glanced at Ike, who was being awfully quiet. He looked lost in thought, so Soren bent his arm upward to touch his fingers where they dangled over the top of the cushion. This seemed to pull him out of his dark mood; he smiled and hooked his fingers, keeping them there.

Soren didn’t pull his hand away. He turned his attention back toward the others, and Ike rejoined the conversation, steering it toward Koure and the things she and the other Branded had done on their journey south. (Apparently this was what they’d been discussing before Soren had returned.) While they talked, Ike began moving his thumb in slow circles over Soren’s knuckles.

The sensation was incredibly calming and threatened to send him into stupor, but he forced himself to stay awake and listen to the discussion. According to Koure, she and her friend had been lining up the parts of shattered statues, bringing people indoors, and tucking stone children into bed so they wouldn’t be scared when they woke up. After uniting with the other Branded, they’d continued the practice as soon as they were out of the desert. Soren was oddly moved by her faith that all of the stone people would be restored.

Koure took her leave (returning the Branded’s quarters) at the same time a servant came to escort the mercenaries to where Pelleas, Micaiah, Sothe, Tauroneo, and most of the other Daeins were preparing to head north. Sanaki had given them four pegasus-drawn carriages so they could all return together.

Ike shook Pelleas’s hand first, although the ex-king seemed shy about it. “Good luck, King Pelleas,” he said. “The Daein people are tough. I know they’ll come out of this stronger than ever.”

“Thank you, Sir Ike,” he replied. “But you should know I deserve the title of ‘king’ no longer.” His gaze slid to Soren, questioning why he hadn’t told him. (In truth, he just hadn’t had the time yet.) “That honor rests with Micaiah now.” He gestured at her, and she inclined her head graciously.

Ike extended his hand. “Then the same to you, ‘Queen’ Micaiah.”

She accepted it and laughed. “After everything we’ve been through, you can just call me Micaiah.”

While they exchanged pleasantries, Pelleas withdrew a scroll from his sleeve and stepped closer to Soren. “It’s all here,” he said quietly. “Feel free to read it and let me know if there are any issues. Not reading things before signing them was what bound me in that accursed blood pact, after all,” he added with a self-deprecating sigh.

Soren accepted the document and was momentarily taken aback by how his name had been printed: “Prince Soren Ophidan Goldoa Gerent Daein.” But persevering through this, he eventually reached the end, where Micaiah had already signed her name: “Princess Micaiah Kirsch Altina Daein.” The abdication was a single page and straightforwardly worded. At the bottom, he signed his name: “Soren Ophidan Gerent.” He would accept his parents’ surnames, but not their royal ones. He hoped this would be suitable for the authenticity of the document, because he doubted Pelleas would accept it if he just wrote: “Soren.”

He handed the paper back to Pelleas when he was done, and the young man seemed relieved. “Thank you for this. I know what it is you’re giving up.”

Soren shook his head. “I am not giving up anything I wanted.” With that, he turned his attention to where the farewells were wrapping up.

“Well, I guess this is over,” Ike was saying to Micaiah and Sothe.

“Yes,” Micaiah agreed warmly. “Everyone’s waiting for us back home.”

“We’ll have to start rebuilding all over again,” Sothe complained. “Hopefully this will be the last time.”

“Don’t say ‘hopefully’,” Ike replied firmly. “Make it the last time. If anyone can do it, you two can.” 

Sothe smiled slyly. “I don’t doubt it,” he assured, “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Thank you, Ike.” Micaiah took his hand again. “I won’t ever forget you or what you and Yune did to save everyone.” She stared into his eyes but then seemed to grow uncertain and awkwardly dropped his hand. Sensing something was wrong, Soren moved so he could see Ike’s face. His eye was twitching again, the smile he wore was forced, and although he was now waving along with the others, his hand didn’t actually move. Micaiah and her people departed for the carriages, and Soren decided he needed to get Ike away from the crowd.

“Ike, let’s go,” he said, a little more forcefully than intended. He seized his non-waving hand, which immediately clenched his fingers. Ike stopped waving and bowed his head. His fake smile flickered away, and his eyes widened. Soren doubted he wanted the others to see him like this, so he took a step and was relieved when Ike moved his feet. Then he strode quickly away with him in tow, whispering to Mist as he passed: “I’m taking him inside.” She nodded, but her brow was pinched in worry. Ike said nothing, and when Soren glanced back, he saw that he was pressing his other hand against his face and seemed to be in pain. “Hold on, Ike.”

When they were indoors, Soren used his Branded sense to find an unoccupied room, which, unfortunately, happened to be a broom closet. But it was a rather spacious closet, so he decided it was acceptable. He sat Ike down on an overturned bucket, lit a candle on the wall with one of the matches in the tray below, and closed the door behind them. “Just breathe,” he advised. “You will be fine in a moment.”

Ike’s grimace deepened, and he now held his face clamped between his hands. He wasn’t making any noise other than his haggard, uneven breaths.

“Talk to me, Ike,” Soren advised next. “What set this off? Was it Micaiah? Was it because she mentioned Yune?”

Ike gradually controlled his breathing. “Yeah, a little bit,” he finally admitted, and his voice was almost inaudible. “But I just feel so tired… I feel like I’ve been hardly keeping it together all day.”

Soren was surprised by this; he hadn’t been able to tell. “You seemed fine to me,” he noted. “But I believe you.” He didn’t know what else to say, so he merely leaned against the wall beside the brooms while Ike tried to compose himself.

He didn’t want to rush him, but when he couldn’t stand to merely watch anymore, he lowered himself to his knees beside Ike and pressed his forehead against the side of his arm. In response, Ike pulled up the arm and dropped across his back so that his forehead now fell against his thigh. Soren brought a hand up to cup his knee. He tried to convey through touch what he couldn’t in words, but honestly, he didn’t know who was holding whom anymore. Pressure built in his throat.

Eventually Ike seemed to calm down. He sat up straighter and wiped his eyes with his other hand. “Are you okay?”

Soren raised his head to look at him. “Of course I am. I should be asking you that question.”

“Right…”

He cleared his throat and sat back on his heels; Ike’s arm slipped off. “Well?”

“I need to talk to Mist about the future of the Greil Mercenaries,” he finally said. “I can’t be commander anymore… I don’t want to be.”

“Okay.”

“…Let’s go on a trip,” he said next. “Let’s go to Hatari, and then let’s travel east, like Nailah said. Let’s leave Tellius—just you and me.”

Soren didn’t answer immediately, even though he knew he wanted to accept, because the pressure had returned to his throat. “…Okay,” he finally managed to say. “That sounds perfect.”

Ike grinned in relief. “I know I’m a mess, but can I-” He seemed to grow nervous. “Can I kiss you?”

Now Soren was embarrassed, because he wanted nothing more in the world. “Of-of course,” he replied with as much dignity as he could muster. “I mean- I already kissed you, so it is only fair.” Realizing how ridiculous he sounded, he bit his tongue.

“Are you sure?” Ike didn’t seem convinced. “You don’t have to do anything for my sake. I know you don’t like being touched.”

Soren was surprised by this observation. “I…don’t mind when it’s you.”

Ike drew his eyebrows together. “You freeze when I touch you, and you hesitate to touch me. I can see it.”

He suddenly regretted his timidity, but he had little power over it. “I am new to this,” he explained. “It will take some getting used to, but…I want to get better at it. I want to learn. And I do…want to kiss you. Often.”

Ike smiled and nodded as if he understood. Then he shifted his weight, bent over, reached out with both hands, and gently cupped either side of Soren’s head. His fingertips barely grazed his hair and skin, and it made Soren shiver. He closed his eyes, and in the next moment, Ike’s mouth was on his.

After the first, gentle kiss, Ike exhaled through his nose, and Soren felt it as if it were his own breath. Now Ike kissed him again, more firmly this time. Soren found he liked it even more.

His weight shifted backward as Ike came off the bucket, now kneeling opposite him. One of Soren’s hands found his side, the other his arm. Ike moved his left hand down Soren’s neck, and he imagined he could feel his racing pulse through the soft print of his thumb.

Ike’s tongue parted his lips, and Soren’s heart seemed to stop for a second before hammering even harder. He could feel Ike smile, and it made him smile. Then, with a final, much gentler kiss on his upper lip, Ike pulled away. Soren opened his eyes and was surprised to see Ike’s cheeks were flushed and his eyes sparkling in the candlelight.

“Feeling better?” he asked, surprised at how breathless he’d become after so brief an activity.

“Yes,” Ike answered. “That was an excellent distraction.”

Soren stood and lent Ike his hand. Once he was standing as well, Soren was reminded of their height difference, and he was annoyed to think that he wouldn’t be able to kiss Ike’s lips of his own volition whenever they were both standing. But then he was merely content to think that he would have occasion to keep kissing Ike in the future at all. “What are we to each other?” he asked suddenly, the question having escaped his lips as soon as thinking it.

Ike looked surprised but then thoughtful. “I suppose it would be easier if we had a word for it. Hmm… Well, I know I love you, and I want to be with you…well, forever.”

The words buzzed in Soren’s mind, making him happy enough to forget everything else. But he tried to remain focused on the question he himself had asked. “We could continue under the guise of, or rather, really, premise of, close friendship. Or, we could employ a term used by trifling nobles: er, ‘boyfriends’ or, er, ‘paramours’. Or, of course, we could always proceed as a mercenary commander and his tactician who merely disregard professional boundaries-”

He was cut off by Ike’s snort of laughter. “Let’s be partners,” he proposed, clearly trying to control his voice. “You’re not my tactician anymore, and I’m certainly not your commander.” He extended his hand, and Soren shook it.

“Very well. From this day on, I will be your partner, Ike… I will always be here, watching over you.”

“And I’ll be your partner, Soren. I’ll stay by your side, and you can always tell me anything.”

Ike pulled the handshake into a hug, and then the hug turned into another kiss. It felt so seamless, Soren almost didn’t realize what was happening. But Ike bent over, and he stretched upward; they met in the middle. Soren supposed this could work after all.

When they parted, Ike was grinning like his old self. “Well, everyone’s probably wondering where you whisked me away to. We should get back.” Soren blew out the candle, Ike opened the door, and they reentered the bright hall.

Upon reuniting with the mercenaries, Ike apologized for rushing off and then immediately asked to speak with Mist privately. Soren watched them both go and knew this couldn’t be easy for him. The Greil Mercenaries had been Ike’s entire life since he was a kid.

Even Soren found the idea of leaving them difficult. After all this time, the company had come to feel like home. But traveling to parts unknown with Ike was even more alluring than the temptation to stay. He was ready for a fresh start, and as long as he was with Ike, he would be home. 

The wonderous smells of dinner cooking were drifting into the banquet hall from the kitchens below. It was here the mercenaries had assembled, although Ike and Mist were still missing. Soren sat with the rest and joined conversations sparingly. His mind was adrift on thoughts of traveling east with Ike, and his lips still tingled with the memory of their kiss. He found he’d much rather think of these things than the fact that he would soon be leaving the mercenaries.

He was distracted from these thoughts, however, when Kurthnaga, Almedha, Ena, and Nasir entered the hall wearing cloaks and boots. Nasir bore only a small rucksack and Ena carried nothing, but Almedha was burdened with a large traveling pack. She was no longer wearing an elegant black dress or her veil, and she seemed like a different person—much more normal.

“Is Ike around?” Kurthnaga asked Soren, who shook his head. He and the others stood from their benches to make their farewells. “We wanted to make our goodbyes.”

“Are you leaving now?” Titania asked in surprise. “Please, wait until after dinner. Ike should be back soon.”

Kurthnaga shook his head. “I am flying us back to Goldoa, and I’d like to cross as much distance as I can while it is still dark. The Begnion people are already scared; I do not wish to startle them further.”

Titania smiled kindly. “That is very considerate of you.”

“Please give my regards to Ike,” the Dragon King continued. “We all owe him so much—myself especially. He inspired me to do more than I ever thought myself capable… He will always be welcome in Goldoa. Our borders will be open now, and we hope to play a much greater role in this world than we have in many years.”

“That is wonderful to hear,” Titania cooed.

Ena stepped forward. “I am glad to have fought among such honorable beorc warriors,” she said. “I will raise my child to know the name of the Greil Mercenaries and all you have done for us.”

“Aw, shucks.” Gatrie blushed and rubbed the back of his head.

Now Ena turned to Soren. “Kurthnaga told me of the offer he made you,” she began. “I do hope you’ll reconsider.”

“I won’t.”

Ena shook her head. “We cannot force you. But I would like to formally extend an invitation to my child’s naming ceremony in two months’ time. I would like them to know you.”

Soren wished he could be annoyed at her, but he knew she and Kurthnaga were only acting with the best intentions. “I will think about it,” he conceded.

Ena smiled. “That is all we can ask.”

With that, Kurthnaga and Ena waved, while Nasir stood by, apparently thinking himself undeserving of the mercenaries’ well-wishing. Then Kurthnaga bid them a final farewell, and they began walking away, albeit turning and waving over their shoulders. Only Almedha lingered. Her eyes kept darting from Soren to the floor.

He was prepared for whatever she might say, but instead of saying anything, she lunged forward to hug him. Soren raised his arms to ward her off, but all he managed to do was get them wedged awkwardly between them. She was stronger than most beorc, and Soren was firmly stuck.

“ _Let go_ ,” he growled, but she only released him when she seemed satisfied with her display of affection.

She stepped back, giving him long, forlorn look, but then she forced that expression into an encouraging smile. She still said nothing, and Soren was annoyed to realize this was her making an effort. She didn’t want to upset him again; she just wanted to say goodbye. He was further annoyed by the fact that he understood this just by staring at her pinched face. And yet, annoyances aside, he did feel like some knot was loosening in his stomach. Finally breaking his gaze, Almedha turned and hurried after the others.

Soren crossed his arms grumpily, knowing that he would have to give some explanation to his fellow mercenaries. One glance confirmed that they’d stopped waving to stare at him in bewilderment. “What was _that_ about?” Mia demanded.

Soren sighed and dropped his arms; he didn’t know how to answer. He tried to return to the table, but Mia was blocking him. No one moved back to their seats.

“Really, Soren, you’re leaving us in suspense,” Titania teased. “Do you know Daein’s dowager queen?”

“And what was with that thing Ena was saying?” Boyd added.

“It is a family issue,” Soren hissed. “I’d rather not discuss it.”

“Oh…” Titania blinked as his taken off guard. “…the dragon tribe.”

Soren shot her a warning look. “I said I didn’t want to discuss it.”

However, no one seemed as willing to accept this deflection as they had his refusal to discuss his Branded nature at lunchtime. Titania raised her chin. “And here I thought you were finally opening up to us.”

“Yeah, Soren, you’ve got to tell us these things!” Boyd laughed.

“So that lady… Was she your mom?” Rolf asked excitedly.

Soren itched under their gazes. He couldn’t form a response. He wished Ike were here.

“But that would mean-” Rhys’s eyes widened.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he finally spat.

“Wait, wait, wait—” Gatrie raised both his hands. “—Wasn’t that lady married to Ashnard?”

Soren’s heart fell into his stomach. Of course they would figure it out.

Shinon started laughing. Holding a stitch in his side, he slapped Soren on the back. “That makes so much sense!”

“Shinon!” Titania scolded. “That’s a terrible thing to say!” She turned back to him. “I’m so sorry, Soren.”

His throat clamped shut.

“Hey,” Boyd offered consolingly, “we don’t get to pick our parents.” He shrugged as if satisfied with having just said something wise.

Oscar laid a hand Soren’s shoulder. “May we hug you now?” he asked simply, and Mia didn’t wait for permission. She plowed into him, and Rolf was next. Oscar followed up on his own request, and then Rhys and Boyd latched on. Gatrie guffawed and joined the embrace while using one hand to grab the back of Shinon’s shirt so he couldn’t get away. Titania was weeping openly, and she was the last to attach herself to the huddle.

Soren was completely lost in the middle of these gently jostling, squeezing bodies. He closed his eyes, batting warm tears onto his cheeks that he hadn’t even realized were budding there. He let his ankles and then his body go limp, but everyone was holding him up so he barely moved. This felt entirely different than Almedha’s hug. It felt like everyone was taking a piece of his pain, sharing and spreading it out so it didn’t hurt as much.

Eventually the mercenaries disentangled themselves. Soren stood on his own two feet, feeling suddenly lighter. He brushed the dampness off his face. He still couldn’t say anything, but that was fine, because no one was asking him any questions. Oscar patted his back gently.

Titania wiped her own eyes and grunted to clear her throat. “Right, um—” she glanced around “—I do wonder where Ike and Mist have gone off to. Dinner should be served any moment…”

Everyone moved back to the benches now, including Soren. He took his seat but still felt like he was floating. No one had cared. No one thought less of him. It had been easy. It had been good.

A short while later, Zihark joined them, squeezing between Mia and Rolf. “Mind if I join you?” he asked. “I’ve been meaning to ask Ike something.”

“Of course,” Titania welcomed him. “He should be back shortly.”

The first course was served before Ike and Mist returned, but they did arrive in time for the second. “Sorry for the wait,” he apologized; he seemed to be in good spirits. “I hope you saved some for us!”

He sat down at the head of the table (where Soren was already sitting at his right). Mist sat on his left, where Boyd had saved her a seat. He pecked her on the cheek when she sat down, which made her smile. Soren didn’t think he was quite ready to do the same for Ike, at least not in front of everyone.

Titania conveyed Kurthnaga’s farewell to Ike and Mist, and they expressed their regret at having missed the Goldoan envoy. Then, inevitably, they had to explain their absence. “Actually, if I can have everyone’s attention for a moment,” Ike began, “Mist and I have an important announcement to make.”

The sounds of eating quieted, and everyone turned their eyes and ears to him. Soren knew what was coming, and he knew how hard this would be. His previous elation was immediately tempered.

Ike stood and continued with apparent confidence: “We just faced the biggest challenge of our lives, and I cannot express how glad I am all of you—my family—have survived. I only made it this far because of your strength, and that strength will continue to inspire me for the rest of my life. Thank you.” He swallowed before continuing. “However, from this day forth, I will no long serve as your commander.” He paused a moment to let that sink in, and Soren thought his eyes looked pained despite his effort to keep his face and posture composed. “We have fought many battles together, and I do not regret a single one. But I am done fighting now.” His voice lapsed into silence, and he sat down. When he pulled in his chair, Soren’s hand found his under the table. They were barely close enough to touch, but Ike linked their fingers.

Now Mist stood up. “Ike has made his decision, and I have made mine.” She raised her head higher. “I will lead the Greil Mercenaries, so long as there are mercenaries to lead.” She passed her gaze over everyone’s faces. “I would like to hear from you all now, about what you intend to do. As my brother has said, we have fought a great number of battles together, and I know he is not the only one who may feel that that number has been enough.” She turned her gaze to Boyd first, since he sat immediately to her left. “Boyd?”

Boyd beamed up at her as he answered. “I’ll follow you anywhere, Boss.” He saluted and then moved his grin to the side. “Anyway, if I left now, I’d lose my spot to some stupid rookie. I’m never letting that happen.”

Mist smiled and nodded. “Then the Greil Mercenaries shall continue, even if it is just you, me, and a bunch of rookies.” She turned her gaze to Gatrie next. “Gatrie, how about you?”

“Oh, I’m not leaving yet,” he replied readily. “I’m finally starting to make a name for myself! A scullion maid recognized me in the hall today and thanked me for saving the world. Pretty great, right?” He knitted his fingers behind his head and leaned back into the empty air. Sighing contentedly, he concluded, “I might even become the most famous mercenary in history.”

Mist gave a small chuckle. “Then the Greil Mercenaries will be lucky to have you among us… Shinon?” She asked next.

Shinon leaned his elbows on the table and seemed genuinely conflicted. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way,” he began, sounding uncharacteristically considerate. “I was gonna quit no matter if it was you or Ike leading.” He flitted his gaze from one sibling to the other. “I’ve had a good time as a mercenary. Made some good money. Had some good fights. But with the payout from Sanaki…” He shrugged. “I want to try different things.”

“I completely understand,” Mist replied. “I know you will master whatever you set your mind to.”

Shinon made a face that was not unkind. “Thanks.”

“Oscar?” Mist turned brightly to the paladin.

He didn’t answer immediately, but his eyes were sad when he gazed back at his fellow mercenaries, especially his brothers. “Actually, there is something I’ve been meaning to tell you… Queen Elincia and Commander Geoffrey have offered to reinstate me as a Royal Knight. I have not given my official answer yet, but I’ve discussed it with Rolf and Boyd… And I’ve decided to accept.” Each brother gave an encouraging yet saddened smile. “Rolf’s certainly old enough now that he doesn’t need me, and although I consider each of you my family too…being a Royal Knight was my childhood dream. I never thought I would get a second chance at it, but now that I do…”

“Go,” Mist declared softly. “You will be an impeccable knight, Oscar.”

“Thank you, Mist, for understanding.” He inclined his head. “I know you will be a commander equal to your father and brother. If I am allowed to take piecemeal work, I will certainly join you for any job, should you ask.”

“Thank you. I certainly hope we can continue to fight alongside each other, whatever the case.” Now she turned her gaze to the opposite side of the table. “What about you, Rhys?”

In answer, he placed his palms on the tabletop and stared at his half-eaten plate. “I never imagined I would be a mercenary,” he began, “Or that I would enjoy serving beside you so much.” He raised his eyes to meet theirs. “But after all that has happened, I feel a different calling. I want to share what I have learned from Yune and Ashera with the people.” His voice grew slightly more confident as he continued. “Everyone is scared and confused right now, and those who have devoted their lives to faith need guidance to rediscover what to pray for, and who to pray to. I don’t know what difference I can make, but with the pay from our final job, I want to open a chapel and a school back in Arbor.” He turned his gaze to Mist now. “I will always be there to heal anyone who needs healing, and I hope I can visit Greil’s Retreat often. But I will no longer be able to join you on missions. I hope that is acceptable.”

Mist smiled widely. “Acceptable? That sounds amazing, Rhys!”

“Truly, it is a great use of your talents,” Titania agreed. “You will make an excellent teacher.”

“Th-thank you,” Rhys replied with reddened cheeks.

“Rolf?” Mist turned to him next.

“I’m staying!” he cried immediately. “I like being a mercenary, and if Rhys is going to teach, I bet I can to. I’ll teach archery to the new recruits just like Shinon taught me.”

Shinon was obviously trying to stifle a proud smile. “Shut it, kid. That was supposed to be a secret, remember?”

Rolf laughed. “Shinon, I think everyone already knows I didn’t just learn how to shoot a bow spontaneously.”

Boyd banged his hands on the table. “You didn’t?” he demanded. “I thought you were a prodigy!”

Shinon tossed a bread roll at him. “Shut it, you oaf. He _is_ a prodigy! I’d only been showing him a couple months before I left and the kid ran straight into a battle.”

Boyd made to throw the roll back at him, but Mist caught his arm. “Alright, alright. Let’s try to stay focused, boys.” Boyd plunged his fists into his lap. “Um, Zihark, what are you doing here?”

The swordsman chuckled in answer. “I had a question for Ike, but it seems you’re the one to ask now.” His face grew serious. “Please, Commander Mist, allow me to join the Greil Mercenaries and fight at your side. I wish to do my part to bring peace and settle disputes between laguz and beorc. I know no better way to do that than serving a company with track record quite like yours.”

“Looks like we have our first recruit.” Mist gave a cheerful nod. “You are certainly welcome, Zihark.”

He saluted in return. “Thank you, Commander.”

“Mia?” Mist turned to her.

“Ah geez,” she moaned, sounding torn. “I’d love to fight for you, Mist; I really would. But I’ve been thinking lately that maybe I’m not cut out to be a mercenary. What I really want to do is find new opponents and fight for sport—not to kill anyone, you know? I want to find the best blade-masters in the world and learn from them. Maybe I’ll even start teaching what I know, just like my family used to do.” She tossed her shoulders. “That’s what I’ve been thinking anyway.”

“That is a noble calling,” Mist deemed. “I’m sure you will find your true rival someday.”

“You think?” Mia returned with a conspiratorial smile.

Mist laughed and turned to Titania. “What about you, Captain? I know you were injured in battle against the Disciples…”

“What, this?” Titania raised her hand to reveal the two missing fingers. “I can still wield my axe just fine. More importantly, you’re going to need a Deputy Commander at your side. Please allow me to stay, and I will continue supporting you in every way I can.”

Mist grinned in obvious relief. “Thank you, Titania. I am so glad to hear that. The Greil Mercenaries just wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Titania’s eyes flickered to Ike, and Mist winced visibly. Of course, the Greil Mercenaries would never be the same at all without Ike. Soren glanced at him, and his solemn expression revealed that he knew what everyone was thinking. Now that he looked in this direction, Soren realized his and Ike’s hands were resting on table rather than under it. He didn’t know when this had happened, and now that he realized it, he instinctively pulled away. Ike loosened his fingers to let Soren’s go.

“Soren?” Mist asked, because he was the last one. He turned his gaze across the table to her, and then cast it over the others.

“I’m going with Ike,” he answered. “I won’t be remaining with the Greil Mercenaries.”

No one looked surprised. “Of course,” Mist replied with a nod. “We’ll miss you both.” She then turned her gaze to Shinon, Oscar, Rhys, and Mia in turn. “We’ll miss all of you! But no matter where we are in this world, we are family. If you don’t want to cause your family any grief…live happily.” Her closed-lipped smile stretched wide, even while her eyes filled with tears. “And please, stay in touch.”


	34. CHAPTER 100: EPILOGUE

After eating dinner, the mercenaries sipped wine and told stories with their friends, and although they appeared content, random bouts of tears were shed whenever someone recalled a particularly joyful or painful memory or if anyone dwelled too long on the fact that, for many of them, this would be their last night together.

Ike was subdued, and Soren stayed by his side throughout the evening. Eventually Ike was the first one to excuse himself. “I’m…tired,” he said, and he sounded it. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his voice was hollow. “I’m going to turn in for the night.” The mercenaries bid him sleep well, and Mist gave him a hug.

“I will go too,” Soren murmured, “It has been a long day.”

Ike nodded, and the pair departed. He was quiet during the walk back to their quarters, and since Soren didn’t know what they were going to do when they got there, he offered: “You can stay in my room again tonight…if you would like.”

Ike glanced at him, and although he still looked tired, he also looked grateful. “My bed’s bigger, if you want to sleep in my room instead.”

Soren nodded, relieved they would still be together. “That sounds ideal.”

“Sorry if I have nightmares again tonight,” he sighed. “You can sleep in your own bed if that would be easier. You don’t have-”

“I want to stay with you,” Soren answered immediately. “Just being next to you…it is comforting for me too.”

Ike smiled in relief. “Then let’s stay together.”

When they made it to Ike’s room, Soren helped himself to the clothes, which were mostly the same as the ones the servants had prepared in his adjacent room. But the wardrobe was bigger, as was the bed. Although these quarters weren’t as nice as Almedha’s, the servants had clearly been told to give him the best room in the corridor.

Ike was currently stoking the fire, which a servant must have started a short while ago, but Soren felt his eyes slip toward him and tried not to feel self-conscious as he dressed. “What were you and Pelleas talking about earlier, when I was saying goodbye to Micaiah?” Ike eventually asked.

Soren joined him by the fireplace. “I was signing away my inheritance. My signature makes it easier for Micaiah to be queen.” He waved his hand. “It was just a formality.”

Ike looked surprised. “So Pelleas knows?”

Soren nodded. “I yelled at him earlier today…after yelling at Kurthnaga and Nasir too.”

Now Ike looked even more surprised. “You? Yelling?” His expression turned into a teasing grin. “…How did it feel?”

“Well, let’s call it one-sided arguing. And I suppose…it felt good. I was upset after talking to her—Almedha.”

Ike patted the floor, and Soren joined him by the fire. “What did she say that was so awful?”

He shook his head, trying to recall. “She admitted to regicide, for one. She helped Ashnard kill his father.”

“Well that’s terrible.”

“She is…unhinged. She seems to want me to be like Ashnard even though she herself tried to save me from him,” Soren sighed. “Hopefully Kurthnaga can control her or knock some sense into her now that she is heading back to Goldoa. But whatever the case, it is not my problem. I don’t need her, I don’t owe her anything, and I am not responsible for her.”

Ike enveloped him with him arms, and rather than stiffening, Soren tried to melt into the embrace. He reminded himself it was okay to accept this. “I’m sorry your parents were bad people,” Ike eventually said.

“Me too,” Soren agreed. “But I suppose I am lucky it turned out the way it did. If Almedha had not sent me away, I would have grown up learning from their example. I probably would have fought at Ashnard’s side at the invasion of Crimea. Then we would have been enemies instead of allies.”

Releasing him, Ike sat back and rubbed his bristly cheek. He looked perplexed by the thought. “I wonder if I would have killed you, or if some part of me might have known…”

“Kill me?” Soren laughed. “You had hardly started mercenary work back then, remember? And I would have learned wind magic from Daein’s best tutors. You, my dear Ike, wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

Ike grinned. “You’ve clearly thought about this, haven’t you?”

“It does not take any thought. I would have defeated you easily.”

Ike laughed heartily, but the action seemed to take the last of his energy and he flopped backward onto the floor.

“Ike, are you okay?”

He shook his head at the ceiling. “I fell apart again when Mist and I were talking about the company. That’s why we were so late. She was patient, but…it’s frustrating. I don’t feel like I’m getting any better.”

“It has only been one day,” Soren consoled, “and you haven’t had much rest. Get changed. We should go to sleep.”

Ike sighed, got up, and followed his advice. Giving the fire a poke, Soren set the stick against the wall and went to the bed. He stole a glance at Ike on the way, because he’d done the same to him. Although they’d each see each other’s bodies countless times before, something was different now. The sense of familiarity Soren felt towards Ike was nearly the same as his own body, and yet it was also different—as if he might discover a new freckle, curve, or scar if he caught a glance at the right time, in the right light.

When he was dressed only in a pair of under-trousers, Ike joined him under the covers. They were on opposite sides compared to last night, and there was more room in this bed. Soren had a better view of Ike’s face in the flickering firelight, and he stared at him, unable to sleep yet.

“Ike…the reason I became angry at Almedha was not because of what she said about Ashnard or about me,” he finally admitted.

“Hm?” Ike’s eyes were half-closed.

“It was about you. She said you will die, and she is right. If you are lucky enough to die an old man warm in his bed…I won’t be. Strictly speaking, black dragons live an average of seven hundred years. Even if I’ve only inherited a fraction of that-”

“Shhhh…” Ike hushed him. He rolled so they were closer, slipping one arm under his pillow and draping the other over Soren’s side. He cupped the back of his head, pulling it toward his sternum. “We’re going into Death Desert, remember?” he yawned. “Either one of us might have survived Ashera’s War just to die of heatstroke, or a scorpion sting, or-”

“That is far from comforting, Ike.”

“When people love each other and decide to be together,” he continued, his tone unchanged, “no one knows how long they’re going to live or who’s going to die first… We just know we’re alive now.”

Soren sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But that doesn’t make imagining a world without you any easier.”

“I don’t want to imagine a world without you, either,” Ike replied, bending his neck to kiss to the top of Soren’s head.

The next morning, Soren didn’t want to get out of bed, and apparently Ike didn’t want to either. Sunlight flooded into their room, but if either of them tried to move or whispered about getting up, the other groaned and pulled him tighter. Ike’s sleep seemed much more restful in the morning hours, as if this peaceful time was protected from bad dreams.

But eventually hunger and a desire to see off their friends drove them set their feet on the floor. They ate breakfast with the other late-risers and then joined the rest to bid farewell to Jill and Haar. The pair were returning to Talrega, which Micaiah and Pelleas had promised to cede to them as soon as possible. Ancient borders would be redrawn, and the stronghold, surrounding mountains, and wyvern nesting grounds would firmly belong to Talrega as an independent nation.

“Good luck, Chief Fizzart,” Ike congratulated her. “I’m sure your people will be glad to have you back.”

“I can’t wait to tell them the news!” she replied excitedly, but then her smile met a hitch. “I just wish my father could have lived to see the dawn of such an era.”

Ike looked appropriately apologetic. “I’m sorry, Jill... But I know General Shiharam would be proud.”

She nodded determinedly. “You’ll have to come visit soon. Talrega is really a welcoming place when not under siege, and the view from the castle is beautiful when the lowlands aren’t being flooded.”

Ike winced but smiled. “I’m sure it is!”

Jill’s wyvern nudged her with its nose. “Aright, alright.” She scratched under its scaly chin. “We should get going.”

While she mounted her saddle, Haar extended his hand first to Ike and then Mist. “We’ll be continuing our mail and freight service. Keep us in mind if you need anything delivered.”

“Of course,” Mist replied cheerily. “It will be a great way to stay in contact with everyone!”

Ike simply nodded, and Soren wondered if they were thinking the same thing: no mail service was going to extend to Hatari, let alone farther east. If they truly went on this expedition together, Mist might not be hearing from her brother for a long time.

Later that morning, Ike and Soren found themselves saying goodbye to Nephenee, Heather, Brom, and Meg. Rhys was heading back to Crimea with them, and so all the mercenaries were here to wish him well.

“We’ll see you back in Arbor real soon,” Titania promised in a tear-choked voice.

“Give your parents my best—” Ike pulled Rhys into a firm hug “—and take care of yourself. You should put your health first for once. You don’t have to push yourself so hard anymore.”

Rhys smiled wanly. “Thank you, Ike. I will.”

When it was Soren’s turn to say goodbye, he tried to find the right words: “You saved my life more times than I can recall. I know we didn’t always agree, but…I am still glad to have known you.”

“I’m glad as well,” he replied softly, “You have opened my eyes to many things, and…you have made my burden lighter. As you once said, people cannot be crimes. I will remember that always, and I will do my best to teach others that same truth.”

Soren nodded, and Rhys climbed onto the wagon seat. Soon the mules started plodding down the road. Nephenee and Brom waved, walking backward as if reluctant to turn around and make the farewell official. But then they did, and soon they disappeared.

Brom and Meg were returning to Ohma to reunite with his wife and other children. They planned to use their wages from the Laguz-Begnion War and Apostle’s War to expand their farmland. Nephenee, on the other hand, was planning to move her family to Melior, where they could live more comfortably in the city. And Heather had expressed a desire to give up her life as a thief and make an honest living to support her sick and aging mother—next door to Nephenee’s family, if possible.

Before lunch was served, the last party leaving for Gallia assembled and prepared to depart. Ranulf was in the lead, followed by Kyza, Lyre, Lethe, and Mordecai. Soren knew this would be a difficult parting for Ike and watched him closely.

“I hear you’re going to stay by Skrimir’s side after all,” Ike noted. “That sounds…rough.”

“It definitely won’t be easy,” Ranulf sighed as if imagining how frustrating his life was about to become. “But he will still need guidance after he becomes king, and at least I understand the way he thinks. I’m the best one for the job.” His shook his head. “If Skrimir needs me, Gallia needs me. It’s as simple as that.” 

“Duty is a strange thing,” Ike mused, looking uncharacteristically introspective. “I think… Everyone—even kings and queens who seem born into it—should choose what and who they’re loyal to. But we’re all still bound by the tasks that suit us and that others ask us or leave for us to do.”

Ranulf gazed at Ike as if interesting in this observation but surprised it had come out of his mouth. “That’s true,” he eventually agreed, “but we still choose to see those tasks to the end. I trust Skrimir, and I love my country. If I remember that, then no amount of work he gives me will seem like too much.”

Ike still seemed unsure, but he changed the subject: “Well, with you two working together, I know Gallia will be in good hands.”

Ranulf peered at him quizzically, and then his eyes roamed to Soren, where they dwelled a moment before crossing over the other mercenaries either listening in or chatting with the other beast laguz. “I hear you’re stepping down as commander of the Greil Mercenaries,” he finally noted, returning his gaze to Ike. “What are you going to do now?”

In answer, Ike draped and arm over Soren’s shoulders and said, “Soren and I are going on a trip!” Soren was momentarily taken aback that he’d answered truthfully, but then he reminded himself that the journey wasn’t a secret.

Ranulf grinned as if he thought this was a good idea. “I was tempted to go on a trip myself,” he replied. “There is still so much of Tellius I haven’t seen.” He hid his mouth with his hand and chuckled, “and when Kyza found out what I was thinking, he even offered to draw up an itinerary.”

The tiger wasn’t so far away that his keen ears wouldn’t pick up on his own name being said. He immediately stopped talking to Oscar, and his gaze darted toward Ranulf instead

Ranulf raised a hand as if to pacify him and tell him to stand down. Then he sighed and turned back to Ike. “But duty calls, as they say. And I’m sure we’ll still be able to see a lot of Tellius from Skrimir’s side.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“So where are you two going to go?” Ranulf asked next, adding optimistically: “Could I interest you in visiting Gallia?”

Ike glanced down at Soren at the same time he glanced up at him. Was this part of their plan a secret? Soren wasn’t sure why it felt like one. But Ike proceeded anyway: “Actually, we’re going east, past Hatari… We might not be back for a while.”

“Oh…” Ranulf’s smile faded to a shadow of itself, but then he forced excitement: “That sounds like quite an adventure!”

“We’ll come back,” Ike assured, adding a halfhearted laugh.

“I’ll be here when you do,” Ranulf replied, and his voice was more genuine now. “Me, Skrimir, Kyza—everyone will want to hear your story…what you find beyond the sands.”

Ike’s mouth pulled into a self-conscious smile. “People have enough stories to tell about me.”

Ranulf seemed to think about this, and then nodded in concession. “…We’ll be sure to tell them while you’re gone.”

Ike let go of Soren to embrace Ranulf, who hugged him back just as tightly. The cat’s eyes were scrunched closed and glistening with tears. Soren wasn’t immune to their sadness, and as he watched them, he wondered why he kept thinking this journey was a secret. 

Ike wept after Ranulf left, and Soren sat with him in his room and waited for the tears to pass. This breakdown was unlike the others; Soren saw no fear or anxiety in Ike, just a deep sense of loss. When it passed, he told him: “We don’t have to go east. All of your friends are here. We can stay.”

Ike shook his head. “I want to go… I do. Everything here reminds me of…everything I ever did.”

“What do you mean?” Soren asked, although he thought he was starting to understand.

“…I’ve killed people in black armor, white armor, red armor, and gold armor,” he explained slowly. “I’ve killed people wearing fur, feathers, and scales. Poor bandits and rich noblemen, slaves and slavers, generals and kings. I’ve killed people in and out of their right minds… I even killed a goddess.”

Soren replied simply and hoped it wasn’t patronizing: “I know… I was there,”

“I want to go somewhere else,” Ike continued, “where I can do other things. Where I can be someone who doesn’t hurt people.”

“Are you sure you want me with you, then?” Soren found himself asking, although the idea of staying back was unimaginably painful. “I’ll just remind you of what you’re trying to leave behind.”

Ike shook his head. “I want you with me.” Then he seemed to consider something. “Unless…you don’t want to go.”

“I want to go,” Soren returned. The prospect of being left behind in Tellius, re-walking the same paths he had always walked, suddenly felt like a prison sentence.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, but…” He tried to get his thoughts in order. He wanted a fresh start too; he understood that. But he wouldn’t give up everything he had learned and gained. “Although you may never want to use a sword again, I will bring my tome. The world is full of violence and people willing to do more violence to get what they want. Heading east won’t change that. If you don’t protect yourself, I will.”

“I know,” Ike replied softly. “I know I can’t make the world the way I want it. But… I can make myself the way I want to be. Or at least, I hope I can. Right now, I don’t have control, but maybe someday… I think it will take a long time.”

“Then I will help you,” Soren promised. “However long it takes.”

When Ike was feeling well enough, they said goodbye to Danved, who was leaving to visit family before joining a circus. Soren thought this would be a good fit, and the peculiar man even managed to make Ike laugh before he left.

Soon after, however, Astrid, Makalov, Marcia, and Oscar prepared to depart for Crimea, and Ike once again had the difficult task of saying goodbye to one of his mercenaries. Rolf and Boyd bawled like little kids even while they literally pushed their brother away. Everyone promised they would see Oscar and the others soon, but not Ike. Soren wondered when they would see their friends again, if ever.

The midday meal was served in a much quieter and emptier banquet hall, and shortly afterward, Soren was summoned to a different hall, where Koure, Stefan, and the Branded were preparing to depart.

“You just arrived. Where could you be going?”

“We’re on the search for more Branded!” Koure answered excitedly. “Well some of us are.”

“I am taking a team to look at the caves you mentioned,” Stefan interjected. “There are some among us who can hardly wait.”

“And some of the others already have jobs from Empress Sanaki as messengers spreading word about everything that happened,” Koure added.

“Turning hermits into prophets,” Soren noted dryly. “That’s surprising.”

“I believe it will be good for them to travel and see the country again,” Stefan chuckled.

Koure grabbed Soren’s hands. “I am going to Serenes when my recruiting job is done! Will I ever see you there?”

Soren didn’t answer immediately. “Someday,” he finally said, “I am going east now, with Ike. We are going to Hatari, the place where Rafiel lived after the Serenes Massacre. Then we may go farther still… I don’t know when we will return.”

She looked sad for a moment but then nodded. “Well, I know our paths will cross again. They always do.”

“So it would seem,” he agreed.

Koure grinned. “I hope you have a good time in Hatari.”

“We will,” Soren replied, finding he was just as optimistic as he claimed. “It is a place where beorc, laguz, and Branded live together as equals. And if such a thing is possible, there is no telling what we will find in the lands beyond.”

After the Branded departed, Soren found Ike saying his own farewell to Tormod, Muarim, and Vika, who were returning to Zunanma City as soon as possible. Sanaki had appointed Tormod to a new government position: the ‘Minister of Laguz Affairs’. He proudly displayed his badge of office and prattled on about all the ideas he had while attempting to say goodbye.

Muarim had also been given a government position, and he was therefore the first laguz to ever hold office (not counting Lehran of course). The position was no minor title either. He was to be duke of Tanas hold, which had been expanded to encompass the Grann Desert, and he was now richer than almost anyone in Begnion. However, he didn’t dwell on the grandeur of his appointment, saying only that he would work to redistribute the wealth, thereby returning it to the common people. He said he would make Tanas and the Grann fairer for everyone—beorc, laguz, and branded—starting with the desegregation of Zunanma City, the segregation of which he now admitted was shortsighted.

Vika had also been given a (much more minor) government position. She would be a liaison between Sienne and Zunanma and act as a representative of the former slaves, lobbying for the things they needed and voicing their complaints and ideas to the court. As they were making their farewells, she explained her new role quietly but with an eager voice. The raven-woman still seemed shy around Soren, but she no longer avoided him as she had before. When final farewells were made, she shook his hand just as she did the others.

That afternoon, Shinon tried to slip away without telling anyone. But Rolf knew what he was up to, and the mercenaries ambushed him before he could leave. Ike gave him a hard time, berating him for his selfishness, but Soren knew it was an act. He knew Ike was just as heartsore to lose Shinon as he was the rest of the mercenaries. The surly archer was obviously affected by the farewells too, and Soren had to assume the reason he’d tried to slip away was so he could avoid feeling the pain.

As evening approached, Mia explained that she would also be heading out before nightfall. She had visited several swordsmanship academies today, all of which had welcomed her with open arms as one of the heroes of Ashera’s War. The most prestigious school in the city had invited her to return for dinner and stay the night. She explained that she would learn what she needed there (and probably fight everyone willing to cross a practice blade with her) before setting out on her own. She sobbed openly as she hugged (and strangled) the remaining mercenaries. Then, inevitably, she went on her way.

Before dinner, Ilyana, Aimee, Muston, Jorge, and Daniel reappeared in Temple Mainal after spending the day rubbing elbows with their contacts in Sienne’s high-end markets. They were dismayed to see that so many of the others had already gone, and they said their final goodbyes to the remaining mercenaries before grabbing the rest of their belongings and departing to spend the evening with friends in the city. Soren finally gave Aimee the Silver Card back, and she laughed when she saw it, saying, “I had almost forgotten about this!” She then became teary-eyed and again asked him to take good care of her ‘Ikey-poo’. Ike blushed deeply when he heard this, but Soren promised once again that he would.

When the servants finally brought out dinner for the guests, only Soren, Ike, Titania, Mist, Boyd, Rolf, Gatrie, and Zihark remained, and the hall seemed vast with emptiness. They tried to make conversation, but the room swallowed their voices.

“Everyone left so quickly,” Mist noted.

“I wonder if they aren’t running away from something just as much as they are running toward something,” Titania thought aloud. “For those who have family, I understand their eagerness to return home. For those who do not, I understand their eagerness to make a new home. And for those who have known war for too long…I understand their eagerness to know something else.”

“Even if it’s the circus?” Boyd laughed. “Maybe Danved had the right idea.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully until Mist pushed his arm.

“Oh, Boyd, not even I would pay to see you make a fool of yourself,” she laughed. “You’d better stick to mercenary work.”

He tossed his hands. “Well, if that’s how you feel about it. I guess I have no choice.”

The others laughed and continued chatting in strange, stilted bursts, as if the conversation had to swell to fill the room as soon as anyone realized just how empty it was.

During the meal, Mist proposed that they too should be moving on.

“Yes, perhaps we shouldn’t rely on Empress Sanaki’s hospitality much longer,” Titania agreed. “She has so much else to deal with at the moment.”

“I want to get back home to the fort as soon as possible,” Rolf agreed. “It’s been ages!”

“I’ve actually never seen your base,” Zihark noted. “‘Greil’s Retreat’, right?”

“That’s what Queen Elincia named it,” Mist answered. “It was strange at first, but now I think I like that name.” She nodded firmly. “Let’s head out for Greil’s Retreat tomorrow!”

The rest of the mercenaries agreed, and Mist turned to Ike and Soren. “Will you both come with us? For at least part of the way…”

Ike closed his eyes for a long moment, and when he opened them again, he gave a tiny shake of his head. Staring into his sister’s eyes, he answered: “This is where I leave you… Soren and I have a lot of research and preparations to make before we head into the desert. It’s best for us to do that here.”

Soren was surprised by Ike’s forethought. Although he’d been planning an expedition to the catacombs to learn everything he could about Death Desert, he hadn’t yet broached the subject.

Mist nodded sadly. “I’m going to miss you, Brother.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” he replied. He then turned his gaze to Titania and moved it around the table. “All of you.”

Titania wiped a tear from her eye. “Greil will be with you, wherever you go. And so will we,” she promised. “We will think of you often and wish you well. Take care of yourselves, both of you.”

“We will,” Soren and Ike replied together. 

The next morning was the last either Soren or Ike would spend with the Greil Mercenaries, and once Mist, Titania, and the others had departed, they remained sitting on the steps of Temple Mainal for a long time. They only had each other now, and it was as comforting as it was terrifying.

When they finally moved, they stole a bit of lunch from the kitchens before descending into the catacombs. Everyone in the city knew who Ike was, and the guards recognized him instantly. They let them through, and the librarians leapt to help them find everything they needed. Soren and Ike spent the rest of the day reading, talking, sitting side by side, or leaning back to back as they flipped through ancient pages.

“Are you regretting your decision to enter Death Desert yet?” Soren teased. “You must hate this.”

“I don’t hate it,” Ike replied coolly.

Soren lifted his gaze and set down his book. “You’ve never had a mind for details. I always assumed reading bored you.”

“It’s not so bad,” he returned. “Maybe I can learn to like it. And anyway, I want to be ready for the desert, and this is the only way, right?”

“It is certainly the best way.”

Ike smiled and tilted his head to the side. “Anyway, you’re here, and I’ve always enjoyed watching you read. You become completely entranced, and you make these tiny little facial expressions. It’s adorable actually.”

Soren gave him his best withering look. “You should be reading the books, not me,” he said, which had the desired effect of making him laugh.

“It’s not my fault you’re distracting…” Leaning to the side, Ike took the bottom of Soren’s chin in two fingers. “Hey, can I just…?” Drawing him closer, he pressed his lips against the corner of Soren’s.

Soren kissed him back, and the volume on desert flora he’d been reading entirely left his mind. His hands found Ike’s face, and then his neck. At his touch, Ike rose from his seat as if pulled forward. Soren leaned back in his chair now, and he was overwhelmingly conscious of the pressure of Ike’s hand on his jaw. His other hand grasped the back of the chair as if to steady them both.

Soren’s hands, however, crawled down Ike’s arms, chest, and stomach, moving the fabric of his shirt in whorls. When they reached the hem, undeniable curiosity slipped them underneath. Ike flinched and smiled when his fingers touched his skin.

“Your hands are cold,” he breathed through a chuckle, and Soren felt his breath hot on the side of his cheek.

“I am sorry.” Soren was about to extract his hands, but Ike smiled wider.

“I don’t mind,” he said before resuming the kiss where he’d left off.

Soren was pleased with this, because his exploration of Ike’s back and hips was complimented by the slow exploration of his tongue, lips, and teeth.

Eventually Ike shifted his weight again, bringing his knee up so that it rested between Soren’s legs on the edge of the chair, spreading them wider. Soren’s first thought was that their combined weight might break the wooden desk chair. But his second thought was that he wouldn’t care if it did.

Having worked his way back up Ike’s stomach (now under his shirt), his thumb had just found Ike’s nipple, upon which he’d released a happy little groan into his mouth. Finally, he removed his hand from the base of Soren’s jaw. Now he pressed it hard into the side of Soren’s hip, as if he were trying to support himself while also finding purchase to lift him up.

Now it was Soren’s turn to release an involuntary sound—but it was here his excitement met a quick end. “What in Ashera’s name!” gasped the librarian who’d just walked in. He promptly lurched back and dropped the stack of books he’d been carrying.

Ike pulled himself off Soren and the chair, bumping his leg against the table’s edge and swearing (albeit, not angrily). The chair rocked but didn’t fall. Soren leaned forward, covering his face in abject embarrassment. Ike, however, was already laughing, and his mirth was contagious. Soon Soren was chuckling too. The librarian, meanwhile, was stuttering in confusion and trying to collect his fallen his books. Then he placed them on the table and stalked away, muttering something about ‘canoodling in the catacombs’ and having ‘no respect for research.’

Ike wiped his eyes and smiled sideways at Soren.

“No more distractions,” he returned firmly, taking up his book and knocking the spine against the table.

There were many more distractions that day, and in the days to come. But eventually the pair felt confident enough to buy the supplies they needed and head north.

Before they left Sienne, Soren closed his account with the Imperial Bank and transferred most of his savings to Stefan’s Kauku City project, keeping only what he and Ike would need for their journey. This was not much, because they also had Ike’s funds from their final job for the Laguz Alliance and their time in the Apostle’s Army. Not to mention Sanaki seemed willing to give them anything they wanted free of charge as a reward for what they’d done during Ashera’s War. Ike seemed reluctant to accept these gifts, but Soren convinced him otherwise.

When it was finally time to leave Sienne, Sanaki, Sigrun, and Tanith bid them farewell, and he supposed these were the last friends they’d be saying goodbye to.

Soren and Ike entertained the idea of attending Skrimir’s coronation and the naming ceremony for Ena’s baby. They thought about traveling to Greil’s Retreat to say one final goodbye. They considered staying long enough to attend any imminent weddings that might occur, and they debated who among their friends would tie the knot first. They talked about the offers that people like Nephenee, Jill, and Calill had made to visit their families, kingdoms, and places of business. They speculated about the resettlement of Serenes and the excavation of the Kauku Caves and wondered if they should stay to see these projects started.

But there would always be a hundred reasons to stay in Tellius, traveling around and around, revisiting old friends in old haunts and retelling old stories. Such a thing would not be a bad life, but it was not the life Soren and Ike wanted. They could always come back, if they decided to, and their friends would still be here. But the best chance for a new life, peace in Ike’s mind, and rest in Soren’s heart simply wasn’t here. 

After stopping in Nevassa to receive a copy of Rafiel’s map and written record of the path across Death Desert, Soren and Ike headed straight east. It was spring now, and new life was bursting forth, even here at the edge of the desert. Cacti, brittle grasses, and knobby trees were spotted with pink and yellow flowers as far as the eye could see. And although this scrubland would soon turn into nothing but shifting sand dunes, now was certainly the best time of year to attempt a crossing.

“Let’s try to get to Hatari by summer,” Ike noted optimistically, pulling his mule’s lead over his shoulder. “Are you ready?” He held out his other hand.

Soren stared a moment, as if seeing him for the first time in a long time. His armor and sword were gone. The band he wore around his head was gone. His hair was mostly covered by the headwrap he’d prepared for the sand and sun. He was dressed in lightweight clothes that draped comfortably over the muscles of his arms and shoulders. He was smiling, and there was an intensity deep in his eyes that matched the expression he’d once worn when charging into battle.

But there was something different about his face too. The intensity was more childlike in its capacity for wonder. Ike seemed more excited for this adventure than he’d ever been for the promise of victory. His hand was empty now, but it didn’t seem to miss the sword he’d always wielded (pretend or otherwise) since Soren had first met him.

He then realized his hand wasn’t empty at all. Soren slid his own into it, and it was as warm as he’d always remembered it being. He felt Ike’s heart beat in his own body. For a moment, he spared a thought for all the pain he’d ever experienced—and found none of it mattered. He hefted his own mule’s rope over his opposite shoulder and took the first step.

The desert, horizon, and radiating sun stretched before him. They were on the edge of the unknown, where none had dared enter since a goddess had drowned the world. But goddesses weren’t all-powerful, and people were often wrong. Soren knew there was more out there, just as he knew he would never be alone again.

_Fin_


End file.
